


Fire In His Eyes And Ice In His Veins

by KnightOfDestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Angst, Canon Divergence, Dark, Dark Dean, Demon Dean, Demonic Possession, Episode: s10e02 Reichenbach, Gen, Guilty Sam, Hallucifer, Mark of Cain, Possession, Post-Episode: s10e02 Reichenbach, Season 10 AU, Season/Series 10, Self-Harm, Suicidal Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Violent Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:30:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnightOfDestiel/pseuds/KnightOfDestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>''Who says I want to come back?" Dean whispered, eyes matte black and dull, letting his hands fall from Cas's neck, and turning so that his back faced the angel once again.</p><p>''You don't know what I've done. I've killed dozens, and you know what? I liked it. I liked the way there screams sounded as I tore into them, the reek of their blood, the way they look when the light finally leaves their eyes...</p><p>I'm an addict, Cas. And Death is my high.''</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is one of my first attempts of a multi-chapter fic. It is an AU taking place after the conversation between Sam and Dean in the bar. Instead of Sam capturing Dean, Dean decides to kill Cole and flee before Sam is regains consciousness. In this story, obviously Dean isn't going to be himself, and is quite different from the canon Demon version of him. After the whole confrontation with Sam, let's just say Dean isn't exactly going to be friendly towards his brother anymore.
> 
> Anyways, enjoy and tell me what y'all think in the comments if you want.

The distinct reek of sulfur hung heavily in the smoke-devoured sky, mingling itself within the reek of charred flesh,fresh blood, and the broken pleas of the damned souls emitting from the direction of the infamous Rack. Occassionally, a hideous snarl would echo from afar, a hell hound bathing in torn flesh and spilled blood, returning victorious from it's latest hunt. And, if you listened very close, legend has it that you could detect the slighted noises from way down below, Lucifer's vengeful roar that would eternally haunt his former kingdom.

Crowley took it all in, scoring his gleaming crimson eyes over his beloved rule,dark pride lapping it's shallow flames at his cold, undead heart. After all, Hell was his. Not Lillith or Abaddon's, may the Hell Bitches rest in pieces, not even Lucifer could re-claim his Throne, forever trapped in his own Cage in the most sinister corners of the Pit. It was his, and his alone.

The quiet drawl of foot-steps echoed from behind him, the sound that would go undetected by many, but not him. The horrific screams and shrieks had simply become a familiarity to him after centuries of torture and mayhem, like the music that would play in the background of a movie. The corner of his mouth twitched into a half-hearted smirk as he greeted his visitor. ''Squirrel, how lovely of you to join me down here. Found your way around alright, I presume?"

The newly-raised Knight of Hell stood straight, muscles taut with tension, a glare etched across his features. ''What do you want, Crowley?"Dean growled, ignoring the question entirely.

The Knight's voice, deep and gravelly, so unlike when he was human,sent pleasurable chills down the King's spine. When the former hunter had been resurrected from his grave as a demon it had sent many new emotions rushing through Crowley's veins. Becoming a Knight of Hell had completely twisted Dean's personality around, metaphorically smashing his Morale Compass into a million pieces of shattered glass, glass that people had tended to frequently be cut on. He had no regard for human lives, willing to tear his way through an entire barful of people, as he had done on more than one occassion. After all, he was now one of Hell's darkest and evil perversions, one of Lucifer's most powerful weapons.

''Can't a lad just want to see his bestie?"Crowley questioned the Knight, his Knight, he corrected himself. Yes, Dean was his, even if the Winchester didn't know it, as he soon would. The new-born demon glared daggers at him, Crowley could see his true forms tail lashing in annoyance, whipping back and forth between two sheets of blood-spattered brimstone. The former hunter's new form was truely a breath-taking sight to behold. Two massive horns spiralled from his head, twisting outwards as they tapered off,while two smaller ones jutted out from his hairline. A dagger-pointed tail, jagged and lethal sprouting off from his tailbone, and to top it all off, two massive sails of burgundy and black leather stretched over the ashen bone, two large spikes jutting distinctly from the top of each. To most, he would be terrifying. To Crowley, he was glorious.

''Fuck you,''Dean grumbled, preparing to turn back around, his fingers tightening slightly on the hilt of the First Blade, sharp black claws scraping quietly against the worn leather.

Crowley's face creased into a frown and called out, having a hard time to keep the annoyance and unintentional lust out of his tone. ''Moose and Feathers are getting closer.''

Dean's black-clad shoulders went rigid, wings and tail stiff as a board. After a few moments, the tail twitched slightly. ''And?''he said, still not turning around to face the King.

''We'll have to move out sooner or later.'' Crowley couldn't help but trail his hungry gaze over his Knight's features while he wasn't aware.

Dean let out a sharp bout of laughter. ''No, I think it's time my brother and I had a little chat.'' Once again, his grip tightened on the blade, the mark humming loudly on his forearm, anticipating the mass bloodshed to come.

''And the Angel?"Crowley reminded him, shivers racing up his spine from the Knight's chilling words.

''If he gets in the way, I'll deal with him too. Haven't killed an angel in a while, anyways.''

Unease bubbled at Crowley's core, but he shrugged it off, replacing it with a small, encouraging smile. ''Go for it. Take a howl at that moon.''

Dean's mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. ''Oh, I plan on it.'' With that, the Knight disappeared in a cloud of smoke and sulfur that quickly disipated into the background of Hell, leaving the King alone once again.

Crowley felt an uneasy mixture of feelings bubbling in his gut, but he shook it off. The Mark had to be sated, did it really matter who Dean took it out on? But still, Crowley couldn't help the guilt twisting uncomfortably in his gut. He sighed, and pulled out his phone, an actual one, not some black magic blood spell that most demons tended to use when serving time in the Pit. He _was_ the King, of course he would have his own WiFi provider down here. Going to his admittedly short list of contacts, he tapped once on the name _Moose_ as it displayed on the screen. Of course, it went to voice mail, the Sasquatch spent most of his time nowadays tracking down his newly demonized brother. This had ought to be one of his most stupid ideas, but call him sentimental, he didn't want to see the over-sized hunter be brutally slain, at least not yet.

''Moose, it's Crowley. Isn't it lovely to hear my voice again? Yes, I'm aware that the last time we spoke you threatened to _kill me dead_ , quote, unquote, amazing use of grammar by the way, but it has come to my attention that you may not be on the map for much longer, if you catch my drift. Let's just say, your brother isn't the same as you remember him and he will more than likely rip your bloody head off with his bare hands, so if you value your own life, I suggest you get out of the country, or you may not live to see another day. Alright? Toodles.''With that, the King pressed the hangup button and fled back to his own chamber.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sam almost screamed in frustration as he slammed yet another demonology book down on the wooden table in the bunker. Not one thing in there even mentioned the Knights of Hell or the Mark of Cain.

''Damn it...''Sam muttered under his breath, grabbing for his half-empty glass of whiskey he had left on the table. He couldn't exactly deny that he had been drinking much larger quantities than he had been accustomed to in the past, but then the last few months hadn't exactly been easy on him either, he thought as he downed the last of the contents from the antique tumbler. He slid his gaze over to the rest of the bottle, which was resting near Sam's elbow, the contents nearly already consumed. Sam let out a dark chuckle. ''Why am I wasting my time by pouring a drink? It'll all be gone by morning anyways...''He began to reach for the glass bottle, when he hesitated, letting out another liquor-induced bout of laughter.

''You know, I always told you not to drink so much,''Sam muttered, settling back into the wooden chair, liquor bottle now forgotten. ''That it was bad for your health. Hunters already have an early expiry date, why rush into it with liver failure? But then, did it really matter in the end?''Sam's voice grew louder, sharper, as his glazed hazel eyes narrowed a fraction of an inch. ''No, it didn't. Because you had to be a fucking idiot and rush into a battle that you already knew you couldn't win! You went on a suicide mission to run from your problems, just like you always do, when you could have just as easily have faced them. Together-with me! That's what we do, isn't it? Work together, fighting the good fight? As brothers? But instead you were a stupid son of a bitch and got yourself killed! And now...now I don't even know what you are anymore, but that... _that_ was not my brother that I spoke to today. And now, I don't have a damn clue how to save you! It's always me that goes off the rails, and you always manage to pull me back from the edge. But now, when it's my turn, I have no _fucking idea_ what to do!'' A loud smash broke Sam out of his rage-driven trance. The glass that he had been holding had been thrown against the nearest wall, thousands of fractured slivers of glass scattered across the bunker floor. Sam was gasping for breath now, not even bothering to blink away the wetness that had gathered in his eyes. ''Dammit Dean, what am I supposed to do?"

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Castiel and Hannah continue to track down the rogue angel Edina, both Dean's grip on the Mark of Cain and his own mind slowly begin to slacken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was kind of an experiment for me to find out where I want to write Dean's mind frame in this fic. You get to see that he really hasn't lost all his humanity, and that will continue to re-occur in the story.

Castiel stiffled a sigh as Hannah yet again shot a questioning glance in his direction. The angel had been doing the same thing for the past fifteen minutes and it had begun to wear on Castiel's patience. Keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, hands firmly gripping the worn leather wheel of the Continental, this time he did let out an irritated huff as Hannah piped up.

''You know, you are not to blame for Daniel's death, Castiel. You were defending a fellow angel and he was out of control. He had to be put down.''

Castiel tore his gaze away from the road to fix it onto Hannah's curious face. ''But were we not what caused him to become like that? We were going to force him and Edina to come back to Heaven when all they wanted was free will.''

''The killed another angel,''Hannah argued. ''Was that in the name of free will as well?"

''But I've just killed another one of our brothers as well. I have killed _thousands_ of angels, Hannah! If Daniel deserved death, then I deserve that a hundred times over.''

Hannah was silent for a few moments, before speaking up again, voice barely audible over the low grumble of the engine. ''That wasn't you, Castiel. You took that path because the Winchester's had tricked you into the tempations of humanity. They have _ruined_ you.''

Castiel's breath hitched, but didn't retort. ''We should stop for the night, soon,''he said after a pregnant pause, voice unsteady and Castiel thanked his absent father that Hannah had not detected it. What she said was true, not that Castiel would dare admit it. He had known this years ago, but simply didn't care anymore. He stopped being a true angel of the lord the moment his hand had touched Dean's soul in Hell. A soul that now belonged to Hell, Castiel reminded himself with a sharp pain in his heart. If only he had found he Tablet sooner and disabled Metatron's power, then Dean would never would have been killed. Would never have been transformed into this... _abomination._

_I swear to you, Dean, no matter what it takes I will raise you from perdition once again, even if it brings my own death,_ Castiel thought to himself as he waited for Hannah's response.

The angel gave him a curt nod. ''Very well, you get some rest. I will search for Edina in the meantime once we stop.''

The angelic duo travelled in silence for the rest of the trip until Castiel pulled into the parking lot of some run-down hotel. By the time he had gone in and paid for a room for the night, Hannah had disappeared.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It hadn't taken Dean long to locate Cas, even with his grace withering away, he was the equilvalent of a beacon of light to a demon like him. The piece of crap Continental that Cas had the audacity to call a car had been parked outside of a motel who's name didn't even pay notice to him. Dean's upper lip twitched into a smirk, getting ready to move in, but something else had suddenly caught his attention. While Castiel's stolen grace was a flickering candle, this new brightness was much stronger.

_Another angel?_ Dean thought. _How lucky for me._ The thought of who Castiel was accompanied by crossed Dean's mind but he decided to shake it off, it didn't matter. Soon, all they'd be is an empty, burned-out meatsuit. Changing plans, Dean decided to trail the unidentified angel, curious as to where he or she was headed.

The second angel seemed to be heading off towards the edge of town, and by foot no less. _They still don't have their full mojo back,_ Dean inferred. Otherwise, they'd be flying everywhere like they used to in the old days. Dean halted for a moment after thinking that, sunable to stop himself from reminising what it was like back then, when angels were the most terrifying thing him and Sam had ever come across, and killing demons were a big deal instead of part of their daily routine.

_Sam..._ A tiny voice flickered in the back of Dean's mind, nagging at him without remorse. Dean let out a quiet snarl, shaking his head wildly as though the action could disperse the thought of his baby brother. The brother that he had left behind.

_Abandoned,_ the voice hissed once again, which set a match to the fiery rage spreading like wildfire through his bones. Dean let out another snarl, this one much louder, and the next thing he knew he was smashing his fist into the nearest thing, which happened to be the window of the old Continental. ''Shut up!"he roared out loud, his demonic voice slipping out a fraction and in doing so, cracking the spotlights of the hotel, sending brilliant orange sparks into the tar-black sky, the perfect match to his now black eyes. Somewhere in the background, he heard the enraged shouting of someone, probably the person at the front desk of the motel, but he could barely hear them over the erratic beating of his (undead) heart. Pure heat bolted through his veins, sending his whole body ablaze with power and roaring in his ears just as the ocean did when the tide came in, drowning out any other sounds but the blood surging through his body. Even if he wasn't paying any mind to it, he could feel the heavy thrum of the Mark on his forearm, glowing a ominous orange, its rage a mere reflection of it's Host's current mindstate.

_''_ He means nothing to me,''Dean growled under his breath.''When the time comes, I'll kill him.

'' _Will you now? Your own brother, who you've spent your whole life protecting by giving up your own?_

Dean, not even really aware that he was having a conversation with himself, opened his mouth to retort, was cut off as another shout that was not his broke through the air.

''Hey, asshole!"A gruff male voice yelled. Dean turned, jaw clenched, to face him, a tall, well-built man probably in his late twenties, wearing the same blue as the motel sign that illuminated the parking lot.

''You talking to me?"Dean asked curtly, already knowing the answer, but doing it just to aggravate the motel worker. The mark continued to sizzle on his arm, it was done waiting for its meal, and it was Dean's job to feed it. Did it really matter who was it's next victim?

''Yeah, I'm talking to you. What're you doing breaking my parking lot?"

A muscle twitched on Dean's jawline as he turned so that he was no longer facing the other male. ''I don't know what you're talking about,''he lied while slowly reaching his hand into the inside of his overcoat.

The worker grabbed the back of Dean's shirt, giving it a pull to try and force him to look at him. ''Don't you-''He never finished his sentence as Dean had thrust the blade into his abdomen down to the hilt, giving it a slight twist, lip twitching into a ghost of a smile as blood ran out of the motel worker's mouth.

Dean pulled the man closer so that he could whisper in his ear, letting his eyes flit black for a moment. His phantom-smirk grew into a full-out grin at the reaction of the dying man. He removed the Blade almost entirely from the victim's crimson-stained stomach, before re-aiming and letting out a silent grunt of approval as he felt the ancient jawbone pierce a lung.

''I said, I don't know what you're talking about,''he hissed as the remaining light from the man's eyes swiftly died out, ripping the blade out of the corpse's chest and letting the rapidly cooling body drop to the pavement like a puppet that's lost it's marionette. He quickly wiped the blood off of First Blade onto the dead man's shirt, before straightening up and refocusing, eyes sliding back into it's moss-green hue. By now the mystery angel had to have a huge headstart on him, but Dean still had the advantage. Only one of them were able to teleport anymore, and it sure as hell wasn't them. He closed his eyes, letting his senses wander, trying to pick up on any sign of angel grace.

They immediately snapped open as a new voice, though so painfully familiar, rang clear as day through the once-silent parking lot.

''Dean?''

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter might take from about a few days to a week for me to write and upload now that school is starting again soon. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys think about the fic! Thanks a bunch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas finally come face to face.

The entire atmosphere of the parking lot was silent. The body of the motel worker lay sprawled out a few feet to Dean's left, long forgotten, the man's blood still stained on Dean's hands. Dean hadn't turned around to face the newcomer. There was no need for facial recognition, Dean would have recognized that deep, rediculously gravelly voice in the deepest depths of Hell, which ironically, that's where he was right now.

Dean exhaled quietly through his nose, fist tightening around the leather hilt of the First Blade, which he was very aware that he hadn't put away yet.

''Hello, Castiel,''his rumbling growl echoed throughout the parking lot. Even without looking at the fallen angel, Dean could feel his grace recoil in disgust from a vile creature, _abomination,_ as Cas would put it, like him.

 

Dean heard Cas take a tentative step towards him, making him stiffen slightly. _What are you doing?_ Dean snapped to himself, _scared of an angel? Fucking coward._ But deep down, Dean was scared. Not scared of Castiel himself. No, if Dean wanted to, he could end him with a mere thought. But he was scared _for_ him. Scared of what Dean could end up doing to him.

_You came here to kill him!_ _Now do it!_ The Mark snarled into his mind, coming to life on his forearm as a searing wildfire, jolts of pain shooting through his bones.

With Dean being distracted by the Mark, he hadn't heard Cas approach him even further until he felt the angel's hand rest on his shoulder. ''Dean,''he repeated, louder this time. Dean visibly flinched, jerking himself out of Castiel's grip, wings twitching uncomfortably under the touch of something so _holy_.

''Don't,''Dean growled, still unable to face the former angel.

Castiel backed off slightly, and sighed wearily. ''So the rumors are true...''

Dean let out a bitter laugh. ''Oh, they're true alright. Back in black, the whole nine yards.''

''I-I thought Sam had gone after you,''Castiel attempted, unsure of how to approach the ma-no, the _demon._ The demon wearing his best friend's face. That was the only way Cas could accept what he was looking at, for this was not Dean Winchester. His soul, once a beautiful golden white, bright enough to blind Castiel momentarily with it's brilliance, was now a writhing mass of grey smoke and black tar. A disgusting perversion of what it had once been.

Dean shrugged simply. ''He did, he failed. Next?"

Cas's nostrils flared as he suddenly snapped, ''Dammit Dean, how have you let yourself fall so far?"

Dean whirled on him, large hands wrapping around Jimmy Novak's windpipe, squeezing just enough to start cutting off his air supply as he backed Cas up against his Continental. He felt his eyes flicker into black, a mere reflection of his mangled soul, stained by the irresistable influence of the Mark and let himself take in the true form of Cas for the very first time. His whole body seemed to be illuminated by a pale blue glow, presumably his grace. Emerging from his back were two massive sails of ebony, just a bit larger than his own. However impressive they looked at first glance, Dean could also spot all the flaws. How a few feathers fell from the actual wing every so often, how patchy and unkept they appeared, how they drooped ever so slightly when Dean remembers how they had once stood at full-mast in the barn all those years ago in Illinois. It made Dean's grip tighten with anger, as it was not Dean that had fallen, but Castiel himself.

Cas's eyes widened slightly, mouth agape as he struggled to breathe. Dean let out another horrible laugh. '' _Fallen?_ Cas I'm f _lying._ This is the best thing that's ever fucking happened to me! No more guilt, no more self-loathing! No more Sam bitching at me over my shoulder, letting him hold me down! Having to protect him every five seconds fro the next stupid thing he's gotten himself into. Cas, I'm _free.''_

''And all it cost you was your soul,''Cas choked out from around Dean's iron grip. ''Your humanity.'' Dean snorted at that. ''Dean, I can see your soul. It's in torment, the last sliver of light, _of good,_ is drowning! And once it's gone, you will _never_ be able to come back from that.''

''Who says I want to come back?" Dean whispered, eyes matte black and dull, letting his hands fall from Cas's neck, and turning so that his back faced the angel once again.

''You don't know what I've done. I've killed dozens, and you know what? _I liked it._ I liked the way there screams sounded as I tore into them, the reek of their blood, the way they look when the light finally leaves their eyes...

I'm an addict, Cas. And Death is my high.''

For once, the fallen angel had no righteous comeback. As another burst of power radiated from the Mark, Dean realized that he was done with the angel, and it was time for him to decide. To kill him, or to let him go. He heard the Mark whisper dark promises in his ears, like a mother would coo nursery rhymes into their baby's ear as they lulled them to sleep. How good it would be to feel the First Blade pierce through Cas's vessel, the satisfied hum of the Mark as the remenance of the angel's stolen grace erupted from his mouth. The ashes of his broken wings scorched permanently onto the asphault beneath his limp corpse.

Adrenaline began to sing through his veins, urging him forward. For the first time since Dean had awoken, blood-spattered and black-eyed on his bed, he didn't know what to do.

Silence ticked by, neither of them daring to speak.

''Your Grace is fading, Cas,''Dean said flattly.

''Yes,''Cas agreed, there was no way that he could deny it. Not to him. Not anymore.

''Do something about it.'' Cas remained silent. Dean inhaled sharply, straightening his back up.

''Tell Sam to stop following me, Cas. This is the only warning he will get. I told him to let me go and he ignored me. He won't be alive to make the same mistake twice.''

And with a gust of smoke and sulfur, Dean disappeared.

　

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam slips deeper into the darkness of his own mind, and could end up costing him his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> This chapter contains self-harm and attempted suicide. If you are triggered by these PLEASE DO NOT READ.

Sam awoke to a splitting pain piercing through his skull. It felt like someone was pounding away on the inside of his eyes, and even in the dull-lighting of the bunker, Sam shut his eyes almost as soon as he opened them.

''Fucking hell,''he groaned, attempting to sit up from where he must had fallen asleep on the table in the library. An ancient-looking book written completely in latin was still open, but Sam couldn't remember a thing he had read from last night. As he stood, cracking his back and working out the kinks of his muscles, he took a closer look at the title of the chapter .

_Milites Inferni._ Knights of Hell. Of course, what else would it have been? If not the Mark of Cain, Sam had been researching the Knights for weeks, trying to determine a way to catch his big brother and cure his demonic ass.

Wow, so this was it then. His brother, _Dean fucking Winchester,_ was a _demon._ How fucked up was that? The realization hit Sam harder than any hangover. Even if he knew that his brother was no longer human months ago, he had never really processed it until now. And finally understanding what that meant, made Sam feel sick. Because while his brother was alive and well, it really wasn't his brother at all. Or, maybe it was. The darkest parts of him. The part that had been born after he died and went to Hell all those years ago. Growing and weaving it's way into Dean's soul with every slice and carve of a knife by his hand. Either way, it didn't matter, because Sam would find a way to bring Dean, _his_ Dean, back home.

Or that's what he kept telling himself. Sam couldn't deny that with all the research that he had been doing, he had found nothing to prove the theory that the human blood cure could even work on a Knight of Hell. Even if it did, there was nothing about removing the Mark of Cain from Dean's arm. Without removing it, curing him would be practically pointless.

After a few moments of confirming his legs could support him, Sam made his way towards his room. A loud crunching sounded underfoot sent another spark of pain through the hunter's brain, making him cringe. Looking down, he saw thousands of shards of fractured glass and memories of last night suddenly flowed back to him. He visibly flinched as he remembered his minor breakdown at losing his brother, his brother _leaving him._

_He doesn't want you,_ a sickeningly familiar voice he had prayed over and over that he'd never hear again hissed in his ears. Sam whirled around, paying no mind to the sudden rush of nausea at moving so quickly, eyes landing on no one else than Lucifer himself.

''No...''Sam gasped. ''That's impossible, you're gone. Cas got rid of you...'' _Didn't he?_

The fallen archangel let out a sickening bout of laughter, making Sam feel physically ill. _Not here. He's not really here._ ''Dean doesn't want you anymore, Sam. He never did. He hates you, you ruined his chance at life! _Your brother wants you dead.''_

''Not that I can really blame him. You literally fuck up everything humanly possible, since, hell, birth! Why don't we list off a few of your _mistakes?_ Trusting a demon, drinking her _blood,_ killing Lillith, letting me loose, losing your soul, just to name a few. Don't you think after all this time, Dean is sick of cleaning up your messes?''

''What was the first thing he did after waking up, Sam? _Get away from you._ He doesn't care about you anymore. He gave some psycho permission to put a bullet in your brain. Hell, he even threatened to kill you himself.''

Nonononono, this isn't real, this isn't happening.

_''_ It's not real...''Sam whispered to himself, slowly backing himself away, crouching down into the fetal position. Lucifer's taunting words rang out over and over in his head.

Hedoesn'twantyou.Wishesyouweredead.He'sgonnakillyou,Sammy.Yourbrotherisgoingto-

'' _NO!''_ Sam screamed,salty tears stinging his eyes, leaking down his cheeks. Somewhere in the back of his mind he realized Lucifer was laughing. ''Stop, stop it! Dean would ne-''His voice cut off as a gasp of pain escaped his lips. A steady stream of blood trailed down his fingers, a small shard of glass embedded in the palm of his hand. Wiping the crimson fluid off on his jeans, he turned back to face Lucifer, only to realize that he had disappeared. His voice still remained though, ringing out through his head. Quieter, as though someone had turned down the volume on the television.

_Pain._ Right, that was what had kept Sam grounded before. Hastily grabbing a larger chunk of glass, he ran the sharp side down the inside of his forearm. Cutting possibly unnecassarily deep, Sam relished the pain as he dug into his skin. Immediately, a good amount of blood trickled down his arm, staining his flannel scarlet. Eventually, the pain dulled out, causing Sam to draw another line across his arm, higher up this time.

_I deserve it,_ he thought to himself, forgetting about his original purpose of harming himself, the hallucination of Lucifer had long disappeared, as he pressed the shard of glass deeper. _I deserve the pain. I let him down, Dean is a demon because of me. He took on the Mark because of me, everything bad that has ever happened to him is because of me!_

Me...because of me...my fault allmyfault...

About 10 minutes later, both of Sam's arms were dyed red, covered in dozens of laserations, all gushing a decent stream of blood. His eyes fixated on the largest cut, a horizontal one right across his wrist. The picture sent another flashback through him, one that contained a woman, hair black as night, matching her eyes perfectly. The heady scent of his blood as he drank from her, basking in the euphoric feeling that spread through his veins. _Ruby._

_I drank demon blood,_ Sam reminded himself, disgusted. _I let the Devil out of his Cage._

_I'm a monster._ _And all monsters are supposed to die._

Grabbing for the shard of glass that had managed to slip from his grasp, slickened with blood, he drew another line across his artery, seeing the rush of blood flow out from him with quickly-glazing eyes.

Guess this is it, then... Oh well.

_See you in Hell, big brother..._ He thought before completely blacking out.

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave kudos if you enjoyed this fic! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean arrives somewhere he'd never expect...home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugg, I feel like the quality of this fic is steadily going down-hill. I'll try to do better, guys!

Dean wasn't even really sure where he was hoping to land, but it certainly wasn't here.

Especially here.

Gazing up at the re-enforced metal door built into the side of a hill sent uneasy tremors up the demon's spine. Too many memories here. Too much _humanity._

_Home._ Something buried deep inside him whispered, but he shook it off with a hushed growl under his breath. No, he had no home. Not anymore. He had lost the right to call the Bunker home the moment he woke up with black eyes.

He had lost a lot of things.

His home. _You never had a home,_ the Mark hissed at him.

His friends. _Really? All your friends are dead._

Let's do inventory.

Mom-dead.

Dad-dead.

Bobby-dead.

Benny-dead.

Kevin-dead.

Charlie-gone.

Jody-gone.

Garth-gone.

_See a pattern here? Everyone leaves you, Dean,_ The Mark cooed into his ear.

_Shall we continue?_ Dean snarled at the Mark to shut up, to no avail.

Cas-good as dead.

Sam-dead.

Dean let out a warning growl.''Shut up.''

Dead.

_''You're wrong.''_ Dean insisted, shutting his eyes tight in a half-hearted attempt to make The Mark shut up.

Dead.

_''SHUT UP!"_ Dean howled, accidentally letting his demon voice slip through. His eyes must have shifted into black by now.

''He's not dead.'' He snarled, lower this time, as he glared furiously at the brand-like sigil on his forearm.

Are you sure about that?

Dean went quiet. What kind of question was that? He knew that Sam was alive.

...Right?

This is stupid, Dean thought to himself. Of course Sam was alive. He could prove it. Focusing around the many warding sigils that littered the Bunker walls, he teleported himself inside.

Blood.

Ever since he had come back a Knight, blood had a much more distinct...flavor to it. No longer was it sickenly metallic, reeking of crimson copper. Now it was more tanzalizing than a juicy hamburger was to a dog. Just the thought of the heady scent made Dean salivate. But right now, he was more concerned of why he was smelling it now.

Lots of it.

Sometimes, if he really focused hard enough when he was in a crowd, he could pick out idividual people's injuries, a scrape to the knee here, paper cut there. Most of the time it just all blurred together and he managed to ignore it.

But right now, he was drowning in the scent of it.

It was everywhere, it seemed. The entire bunker reeked of the scarlet substance. It made the Mark hiss it's approval in waves of power and adrenaline.

Sam, Dean reminded himself. Find Sam.

Doing his best to ignore the ever-present heady smell, he navigated his way throughout the Bunker until his eyes landed on a discarded body.

Sammy.

The poor kid's arms were completely shredded, dyed a crimson red and covered in dozens of laserations. But the most unsettling thing was that other than the cuts on his arms, there seemed to be no sign of a struggle.

That only left one possibility; Sam had done this to himself.

The thought alone should have made the demon gidy with joy, but instead for the first time in months, Dean felt sick.

''Sammy...''Dean whispered, swallowing the bile threatening to rise in his throat. His little brother's eyes were shut, but if he looked hard enough, he could make out the barely-visible trail of dried tears. On instinct, Dean felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

Dean shook his head wildly. ''No, _no._ You do not get to die like this, you fucking bastard!'' He gave his brother's limp form a wild shake.

''You are NOT fucking dying on me, got it!''Dean yelled, listening for a heartbeat.

Silence. And then....

.... _babumm...........babumm._

Dean let out his breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. He was alive, barely. But the question was, what to do now? He couldn't exactly take him to the hospital. If the took one look at Sam's wounds, they'd lock him up in the mental ward and never let him leave. But there was no way that Dean could bandage up these kind of injuries with a First-Aid kit, even if he had actual training in the medical field.

''Fuck...''Dean swore under his breath. What the hell was he supposed to do? It wasn't like he had time to waste to figure out what to do. Sam was dying _now._

The Mark, who had been unusually silent until now, sprang to life on his forearm, as if reminding him.

I'm a demon now. I can't die. If I possess him, then I can heal him.

The very thought made Dean flinch in uneasiness. This is exactly what had happened with Gadreel, only a few months ago. And look at what had happened because of that hasty decision.

I'm his brother. It's not like I'm some psycho two-faced angel.

No, just the demon that used to be his brother.

Shrugging off that last thought, Dean sucked in a deep breath.

''Open up, Sammy. Here comes the airplane...''

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam opened his eyes.
> 
> His very dark, very black eyes.
> 
> Dean's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay...so I'm back.
> 
> This chapter is really fucking weird. That is all.
> 
> If anyone is still reading this after me not posting in forever, thank you! You're the only reason I'm continuing this train-wreck of a story.

Sam opened his eyes.

His very dark, very black eyes.

_Dean's eyes._

Even after becoming a demon, Dean had never given much thought towards possession. It wasn't as if he was going to smoke out of his own body(only a meatsuit now, he reminded himself), or even if he could due to the Mark tying him to his own vessel(though that theory had now been thoroughly proven false). As a human, he had always thought of the whole thing as completely _rape-y ._ Being trapped inside your own body, some random creature having access to all your memories, your darkest thoughts, your deepest secrets was a living Hell on its own.

Though his opinion had obviously changed on the matter now that he technically had the ability himself, he had never given a single thought towards possessing some poor bastard. He liked his own body quite well, thank you very much.

...Well, until now.

He was completely in control of Sam's body. Thick black smoke coursed through his veins, weaving around his flaming white mass of a soul, corrupting it. Devouring it.

He stood, staggering a bit at the massive difference of the length of legs(though he'd never admit it) and made his way towards Sam's room. (His room now?)

Endless pits of black stared back at him. They looked completely wrong on Sam's normally gentle features. He suppressed a shiver, which caught him off-guard.

On a reflex, he blinked, forcing them back to their original green( _no, hazel)_ hue.

Sam's eyes. _His eyes._

This is so fucked up.

_Then why are you even helping him?_ That blasted voice snarled in the darkest corners of his mind.

He hadn't honestly even considered that. After seeing his baby brother collapsed on the floor in a pathetic, bloody mass of over-sized limbs and over-grown hair, he had no idea what came over him. His former big brother instincts that he had been trying _so damn hard_ to forget by drowning them out in blood, booze and bitches had came back in a mass rush, trumping the horrible _evil_ that shrouded his dark, dark heart.

That god-damned shred of his humanity, mingled with the corrupt mind of a demon's. And alas, here we are. Possessing his own brother.

_No,_ he thought to himself. _He's only alive because no one gets to kill my baby brother._

No one except me.

He could feel Sam slowly regaining conciousness, though Dean still remained in control of his body. This was the time where panic would usually kick in. Though Sam technically couldn't exorcise him as if he was just another other Crowley's lackies, he was damn sure that he could think of some other way to get him out. And if Dean was expelled too soon, Sam's wounds wouldn't have time to heal, and he would surely die. Dean felt sick as he could't help but recall all that blood spattered on the Bunker's floor. Sam's blood.

However, maybe he could work this just like Ezekiel-Gadreel, _whatever the fuck his name was._ If he laid low, letting Sam slowly heal, he'd never notice that anyone was sharing custody up in is brain.

You know, except if he spilt holy water on himself. Or couldn't cross a salt line. Or got stuck in a Devil's Trap. Or if some demon or angel recognized Dean's demon face. Or Cas came home. Or if Sam had any common sense at all.

Yep, this was going to work just fine.

Praying(Dean chuckled at his choice of words, as if a demon would pray) that his brother wouldn't wake up just yet, he crouched down beside his body( _former body? Meat-suit?)_ , which hadn't moved an inch since he smoked out and hoisted it over Sam's( _his)_ shoulder. He decided to dump it in his old room, giving a dark chuckle at the irony of it. He once lay in the exact same spot, all those months ago. He was dead then. He was dead now.

...Was he?

He didn't _feel_ dead. But then, was he even Dean anymore?

He couldn't answer that. He didn't have the same feelings anymore, of self-hatred or never-ending grief. He obviously didn't have the same thoughts anymore, _hell,_ he was possessing his own brother now, for fuck's sakes. He didn't have the same family. Less than a day ago he was getting ready to kill the only to people that human-him had left in this fucked-up world. And now he didn't even have the same face.

Even in Hell he had kept his face. Contorted in agony and rage, dripping with blood, it was still his.

But then, this wasn't Hell. He _was_ the Hell. He was a monster, black eyes and all. The same thing that he had been trained to hunt and kill for pretty much all of his human life. The same thing that had ruined his entire family's lives all those years ago. The same thing that had haunted his nightmares since he was old enough to know what a demon was.

And he had never felt more alive.

Sam was stirring now. He could feel him, however weakly, trying to open his eyes. To wake up. Making his way down to the main room once again, he mojoed away the remants of the blood, and let himself retreat to the back of Sam's mind, giving his brother back control of his body.

_Wake up, little brother._

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you guys think? Kudos are the Dean to my Cas ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Cas prepares to head back to the Bunker, Sam wakes up for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got this done a lot quicker than I thought I would. 
> 
> I realize that the chapters are a bit short but with all the schoolwork I've been getting I'm pretty hard-pressed for time. I apologize.

''I have to go,''Cas muttered, scrambling around his hotel room trying to gather all his belongings while Hannah looked on. ''You can manage to take down Edina alone, or you can return to the Host until I return.''

Hannah, who had remained silent until now, scoffed. ''Castiel, I fail to understand why this Winchester is so important to you. After all, he is the main reason that you have...fallen so far.'' Cas didn't miss the way she paused before the word fallen, as if trying to find a word less harsh, to phrase it in a way that wouldn't offend him. He didn't comment on it, however.

Instead, throwing his trenchcoat on, he answered,''You wouldn't, Hannah.''

''Then make me,''the other angel retorted, eyes narrowed in anger. ''Make me understand why you have given up everything for one man.''

_Except he wasn't a man anymore,_ Cas thought forlornly. Instead, he was a demon, a Knight, the physical embodiment of war and destruction. Something that years ago, Cas wouldn't have given a second thought to put down. Or, at least attempt to.

Cas didn't reply to Hannah's snide comment this time. ''I have to go,''he said, making his way to the door, keys to the Continental in hand. ''Take care of yourself, Hannah.''

She was silent for a long moment, before dipping her head in return. ''Good bye, Castiel.''

* * *

Sam awoke with a start, head throbbing and back aching. Taking in his surroundings, he frowned as he realized he had fallen asleep(or more likely passed out) on the Bunker floor. The last thing he remembered...getting hammered, as usual(it had been a constant cycle ever since Dean died, or _didn't)_ and then...black. He couldn't remember a thing.

Until he did.

It all came back with a rush. Getting drunk, coming face-to-face with a not-so-real Lucifer, all the blood...Sam held back a sudden rush of nausea as he dared to look down at his arms. They were...

_Healing?_ Last night, Sam, well Sam was going to die. He had simply lost too much blood, and looking back on it, he had _wanted_ to die. But now, the dozens of cuts, most carved directly over vital veins and arteries were almost already scabbed over.

_That made absolutely no sense._ Sam was _so sure_ that he was going to die. Of course, that wasn't what he was going for at first. It was really more of an accident, once he started he couldn't stop and eventually the blood loss was too much for his body to recover.

But, he was okay with dying. Afterall, it had been long overdue. Eight years to be exact for the first time. When Jake drove a knife into his spine and his vision faded into black as his brother screamed his name. He remembered seeing nothing but darkness at first, and then light. _So much light._ It was intoxicating, he was sure that if he had remembered his first home that this was what it would have felt like. _Was that Heaven?_

But then he had waken up. It wasn't until days after that he had realized that Dean has sold his soul for him. Sam had never told him what had happened after he died, the white light, the beyond that he never got to discover. Of course, at the time neither of them had known that Heaven actually existed so of course Dean must have assumed his soul had landed in Hell. That's what he would have guessed, anyways. Sam truly had never stopped feeling guilty for never telling Dean that he wasn't trading spots with him in Hell, that he'd never even ended up there. That essentially, selling his soul was nothing more than the fear of being alone, that he hadn't needed saving.

The very thought of Dean made the nausea he had been attempting to hold back return sevenfold. All his life Dean had always been there to clean up his messes. From wiping up his sick as a child, to the goddamn apocalypse Sam had unleashed. He had always been there.

Atleast, until he wasn't.

Dean had made it clear back at the bar that he hadn't wanted saving. That he was happy with his new life. Sam didn't believe that for a second. He _knew_ his brother, better than anyone in the world. Better than Dad, better than Cas, better than Dean himself. It was all just a charade. Dean, _the real Dean,_ was drowning under the influence of the Mark. They both knew it. The Real Dean would never have killed innocent people, would never run with Crowley, would never even consider continuing to live as a demon.

But obviously that Dean wasn't around right now. _That demon was._ So Sam would have to be his conscience; his Brother's Keeper. It was time to make up for all those times Dean had pulled him out of the fire.

_Let's get started._

* * 8

Somewhere deep in Sam's conciousness, the demon stirred.

* * *

A lone angel made its way towards the desolate playground. Two others, previously concealed perfectly in the darkness rose to greet them.

The first angel nodded in brief greeting. ''Azrael, Puria.''

''Well?''the taller one, Azrael demanded getting straight to the point. ''What is to be done?"

''It is true,''the first one murmured to its two other companions. ''He has fallen too far. It is time for The Rebel to be dealt with. Warn all of Heaven; the angel Castiel will be hunted down and tried for all his sins.''

　

　

　

　

　

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give a big shout-out to everyone who's bothering to read this; thank you so much, love y'all!
> 
> Kudos are my motivation ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Possessing someone was weird...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving to all you Americans! While I did not get to indulge in platefuls of turkey and stuffing(damn you, Canada), I did however have the pleasure to whip up a quick chapter for you guys.
> 
> Enjoy!

Possessing someone was weird.

Like, _really fucking weird._

You had access to every thought, every memory, every unspoken word that they're minds conjured up when they were at their worst. You had control to every movement, every decision that they would make. It was as if the demon was the puppeter with their meat-suit tangled in their marionette; powerless and completely under their control until they decide to drop the strings and leave you for dead.

So yeah, possessing someone was weird.

But possessing your _brother_ is much, _much_ weirder.

If he really wanted to, Dean could find out every last thing that his little brother had ever hidden from him; from eating the last of the food when he was five, to who he had killed and not told him about.

If he really wanted to; Dean could take full control of his brother's meat-suit and go hunt down Cas and his angel pals before tearing apart Sam from the inside. The Mark hissed its approval in his mind at the thought alone, restless and longing for the blood of its next victim.

If he really wanted to; Dean could smoke out right now and leave Sam for dead. Or even better, he could finish the job himself. A part of him questioned why he wasn't doing that right now, the same question that had been lingering in the back of his mind ever since he made this admittedly stupid decision of possessing _his own damn brother._ He repeated the reason that he had come up with back then; that the only person that could kill Sam was him. And if his brother wasn't up to his full strength, well then it wouldn't be much of a challenge then, would it?

The Mark liked it when people fought back. Dean did, too, ever since he woke up sporting black eyes. It was the thrill of it, he thought, The sickening jolt of adrenaline as someone struggles to fight back against something that they could never hope to beat. Just like a butterfly in a spider's web, they put up a fight, but in the end they never really stood a chance. In the end, they were completely at your mercy.

Sam's wounds were healing slower than he had liked. When he first went through with this plan, he assumed that his brother would heal almost immediately, just like he had when he was back in his original body. But still, the cuts were already scabbed over and didn't seem like they'd need any stitches, which was a good sign. He figured that at the end of the week, Sam would be almost completely healed. And then, it was show time.

He had felt Sam's suspision when he first woke up. The wounds that he had inflicted on himself would have surely killed him, they were much too deep and even if they hadn't killed him, they would still most likely be an open wound, not a scab. But Dean decided not to take the risk of infection or his wounds starting to bleed out again. With Dean's healing mojo, even if it wasn't on full strength, still supassed that of a regular human like Sam. He had to be careful not to heal these wounds too quickly, or otherwise Sam would figure out that something was up.

Even if Dean still wanted to keep his baby brother alive, it didn't mean that he was at all happy with what Sam was trying to do. It seemed that keeping Sammy alive resulted in him gaining a new spurt of hope. He was trying to _cure him,_ as though he were some rabid animal that needed to be put down. As though he were just Sammy's broken toy.

_Well, guess what baby brother? Maybe I don't want to be fixed._

And the new Dean _always gets what he wants._

* * *

''Come on, Sam,''Cas muttered under his breath, dialing the younger Winchester's cell number for the fourth time already. ''Damn it!''

It was at times like this that Cas missed his wings the most. Of course, he _always_ missed them, the power and freedom that came with them. Without them ever since Metatron had stolen his Grace, it was as though a human would miss its arms if they had ever lost them. The term _Phantom Limb_ came to mind but Castiel didn't linger on it.

Throwing his flip phone down on the passenger seat of the Continental in frustration, he pressed his foot down harder on the gas pedal. _Sam is in trouble,_ he thought to himself. He didn't know how he knew, it was as though it was a gut feeling. Similar to that sharp stab he used to get near his heart whenever Dean was in trouble. He hadn't felt that feeling in months now.

Cas missed it. He missed _him._

Angels were never meant to feel to great extents. They were taught to follow orders, to love no one other than the Creator himself. And the only reason that they were told to love God is if a creature cannot learn to love, than it is nothing more than an abomination.

That's when it hit him. _Longing._ That's how he knew that Sam was in some sort of parrell. Not because he was longing, _but because he wasn't._ Ever since Dean had met his...fate, Sam had begun to give off some sort of longing. Normally it was nothing more than a tiny tug in his chest, but when the younger Winchester was at his worst it was as though an angel blade had been driven into his heart.

That also explained why he hadn't felt that feeling from Dean in so long. Demons don't long. They don't love. They don't care. They don't _feel._ Angels were never meant to feel to great extents, either. They were taught to follow orders, to love no one other than the Creator himself. The only reason they were programmed to love God, is if one cannot experience love, they are nothing more than just another monster. Another demon.

The world's first abominations, a disgusting perversion of God's most beautiful creation. And now his best friend was one of them.

And he'd be damned if he'd let Dean stay like that for a moment longer.

_Hold on, Sam...Dean. I'm coming._

　

　

　

　

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, Happy Thanksgiving! Eat an extra plate in my honor :D
> 
> Kudos and comments are great if you want!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has a king to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugg, I haven't posted in a while, have I? Sorry about that guys. Christmas break is coming up so I'll be able to post more often.
> 
> In this chapter we vaguely tali about Sam's suicide attempt, so trigger warning possibly?

''Bloody hell, Squirrel...''Crowley growled under his breath, slamming the phone down on his desk. With a quick snap of his fingers, two nameless demon lackies appeared at his side, eyes lowered to the ground in submission.

''Any word on either of the Winchesters?"he snapped, making his henchmen flinch uneasily. He felt a cold tendril of sick satisfaction curl throughout his meat-suit's chest. They were afraid of him; he liked that. It was a comfort like this that re-assured him that his leadership still held fast throughout Hell.

''N-no sir,''the first demon blustered, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. ''There have been no demon kills lately anywhere near the state of Kansas. It's...quiet.''

'' _And?"_ Crowley pressed, getting annoyed. After all, patience wasn't one of his virtues. Not that he had any. ''The angel, Castiel? What is his status?"

He had had his demons keep an eye on the dying angel ever since Dean had supposedly gone after both him and his baby brother. It made him uneasy that there had been no sightings of Sam over the past few weeks. Ever since Dean had woken up with those (gorgeous) black peepers of his and disappeared from the bunker, Moose had been on overdrive trying to find his missing brother.

Perhaps Dean had caught up to him, afterall.

He hated the way his stomach clenched at the mere thought of a Winchester being killed. He was the fucking _King of Hell._ He didn't feel pity, or remorse, or grief.

Ever since he had left Sam that voicemail warning him of his impending demise, Crowley had felt disgusted at himself. So what if Moose kicked the bucket? He was the _enemy,_ for his own sake!

Perhaps it was because it was Dean who was going to do the honor. Perhaps it was because they were brothers and somewhere deep down in his shriveled black heart it stirred some unwanted emotion about the wrongness of it.

Or perhaps it was because he knew Dean would eventually pose to be a massive threat to both Crowley and his throne and it was only Sam and their pet angel that stood between him and being skewered by a _fucking_ jawbone.

...He decided to go with the latter.

~

Sam's phone vibrated on the table where he had last left it. He frowned, unsure as to who it could be. The digits 666 flashed on the screen and he felt his stomach curl uneasily.

''Crowley? What the hell do you want?" Sam snapped, clutching the phone to his ear with white knuckles.

''Just checking up on my favorite Moose,''the familiar British accent came through the speaker. Sam rolled his eyes.

''Fuck off, Crowley,''he growled. ''I'm-''

''Have you spoken to anyone recently? Say...about six foot, spiky blonde hair, green eyes that switch to black every once-''

''You know I haven't,''Sam gritted out between clenched teeth.

Dean, who had only been half-heartedly focusing in on the phone call, snapped his full attention towards the voices now. He didn't like where this was going.

He heard Crowley pause briefly. ''Alright, fine. Didn't you get my voicemail?"

'' _What voicemail?"_ Sam demanded. His mind was going a million miles a minute. Too many things were going on at the same time; Dean was gone, Crowley being a cryptic asshole, not to mention _trying to fucking kill himself but then somehow miraculously survived._ He flinched at the last thought.

''The one I sent weeks ago...where the bloody hell have you _been,_ Moose?''

''Oh, I'm so _fucking sorry_ I didn't answer the phone when you called, you limey bastard! I have a few more important things that I've been doing than playing telephone tag with the King of _fucking Hell._ My brother is dead. My friend is dying. I-'' _Tried to kill myself._ Sam caught the words in his throat just in time. That was the last thing he needed to tell _anyone._

_Yeah, sorry guys. I got drunk because I can't handle my brother being gone. Then I slit my wrists because the fucking devil told me to and it was the only way I could maybe talk to my brother again in Hell._

Crowley's exasperated voice barking through the speak snapped him out of his own thoughts. ''You're brother is not dead, Sam! He's far from it. And he is coming. Coming to kill you, you hear me? You and Castiel. He's-''

Dean hung up the phone.

Chillingly calm, he flipped his way throughout the phone to Sam's notifications.

 _4 missed calls from Castiel._ He barely lingered on it. He didn't give a rat's ass about the angel right now.

_1 voicemail from 666._

Dean clicked on it.

_''Moose, it's Crowley. Isn't it lovely to hear my voice again? Yes, I'm aware that the last time we spoke you threatened to kill me dead, quote, unquote, amazing use of grammar by the way, but it has come to my attention that you may not be on the map for much longer, if you catch my drift. Let's just say, your brother isn't the same as you remember him and he will more than likely rip your bloody head off with his bare hands, so if you value your own life, I suggest you get out of the country, or you may not live to see another day. Alright? Toodles.''_

A loud _smash_ ripped through the main room as the phone was hurled against the wall, spitting glass and plastic in it's wake. Dean stood, chest heaving, black eyes glittering in the light.

The ice that had slowly been building around his heart hissed with the ret-hot _rage_ of his blood thrumming through borrowed veins.

How _dare_ he? _Go behind his back and warn his brother about him._

He felt that familiar, distinct sharp stab of pain throughout his right forearm and shoved his sleeve up though he already knew deep down what he would find. There the Mark lay, blood-red and angry. It looked like nothing more than a scar. If Dean hadn't felt it whispering empty promises of bloodshed and destruction into his mind, he would have maybe could have even forgotten that it was ever there.

 _But it was there._ Red and ugly, a stark comparison against the unhealthy white sheen of his baby brother's skin. Dean's own rage over Crowley had it all worked up. Retrieving the First Blade from the secret spot Dean had hidden it on the bookcase it hissed it's approval, after being denied for so long the one thing it truly desired.

Dean relished in the feeling. The delicious sense of sheer _power_ washed over him.

_Over time you will get used to the feeling. Even welcome it._

The familar words rang in his ears as though they had been spoken out loud for the first time. Magnus was right after all.

Tightening his grip on the hilt of his Blade, he felt his brother's upper lip curl into a sinister sneer. And then, he was gone.

~

Cas shot a brief glance at the dashboard where the screen displayed 7:32 in bold, green digits. The sun had just started to drown in the black horizon of the mountains in the distance, the golden headlights of the Continental carving mercilessly into the shadows. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, but did not even consider stopping for the night. The Bunker was just a little over an hour a way, now. He look his eyes off of the road for a split-second to turn the heat up before looking back up, only to slam the breaks on. Less than five feet away stood four suited figures, silver blades flashing a blinding white in the artificial lighting. _Angels._

''Step out of the vehicle, Castiel,''one of them ordered. Cas recognized the voice almost immediately.

_Hannah?_

~

Dean felt a flash of satisfaction at the quiet squelching as he pulled the First Blade out of the last bodies' stomach. This one was a fighter, tried to kick him off as he held her fast, carving into her abdomen.

Six other bodies were strewn in various places all over the bar. The walls appeared that someone had tried to finger-paint them with blood, not even have started to dry yet. He felt the Mark hum in approval, it had been stated...for now.

Stupid thing. Like a damn dog; had to keep feeding it for it to shut up.

But still dark, heated anger burned a whole in Dean's chest, similar to the gaping wound he had left on the barkeeper who was currently sprawled across the blood-slick countertop.

_Crowley._

That one word sent a new wave of bubbling fury throughout him. He had _dared_ try to warn Sam about him. He would live to regret that. Or...rather _wouldn't._

Kicking one of the bodies aside; a balding middle-aged man who he had slit his throat, almost decapitating him, Dean made his way to the bathroom to wash the blood off of his hands. Turning on the tap to a scalding hot, he glanced up at his reflection in the mirror that hung over the sink.

Sam stared back at him.

As did black eyes.

A sudden wave of unexpected nausea roiled throughout his stomach at the mere sight of his baby brother's face; spattered red as though it had been painted with bloody war-paint. Mouth curled into a horrible smirk that looked so entirely _wrong_ on his usually soft features. Horrible black, empty eyes that stared back at him. Expressionless. _Dead._

But...it wasn't Sam. It was _him._

Dean turned away from the monster that stared back at him.

He had a King to kill.

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who reads this! Leave some kudos if you want.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so I got this up quicker than I expected. So, quite a bit is happening in this chapter, for a heads-up.
> 
> Also, I'm just going to say Dean is kind of a dick in this chapter, but really he has been the whole story so you know what you're expecting.
> 
> Also, thank you so much for subscribing! I cry actual tears when I know someone actually likes my writing.
> 
> So I'm assuming the next chapter should be up in about a week, now that Christmas break is coming up so I'm looking forward to posting more often.

_Cas shot a brief glance at the dashboard where the screen displayed 7:32 in bold, green digits. The sun had just started to drown in the black horizon of the mountains in the distance, the golden headlights of the Continental carving mercilessly into the shadows. He felt his eyelids grow heavy, but did not even consider stopping for the night. The Bunker was just a little over an hour a way, now. He look his eyes off of the road for a split-second to turn the heat up before looking back up, only to slam the breaks on. Less than five feet away stood four suited figures, silver blades flashing a blinding white in the artificial lighting. Angels._

_''Step out of the vehicle, Castiel,''one of them ordered. Cas recognized the voice almost immediately._

_Hannah?_

* * *

''Hannah?''Cas questioned, stepping slowly out of the Continental. ''What- what are you doing?"

Hannah's eyes were steel sheets, holding none of the familiar warmth that Castiel had become accustomed to after travelling with her for so long. Her shoulders were pulled back, chin tipped up in a way that was eerily familiar to him. _A natural fighting stance._

_What exactly was going on here?_

Hannah did not reply. Instead, it was one of the other angels she was accompanied by _;_ a slender pale-skinned woman with thick, dark curls pulled back from her face that showed off her sharp features. Her eyes, too, were like flint. Like she didn't even recognize him as one of her brothers.

Perhaps she didn't.

''What should have been done long ago, Castiel,''the dark-haired woman said, words grating and unkind. Cas could almost physically feel the hatred rolling off of her in thick, suffocating waves. ''It is time you be punished for your crimes against Heaven.''

* * *

Dean couldn't help the smirk that cracked his face as the woman shrieked for the first time since he began interrogating her. Thick, hot blood that still was wet slipped between his fingers as he drove the hunting knife deeper into her abdomen.

'' _I don't know,''_ she choked out, spitting a dark red mouthful of saliva onto the floor beside her.

''You're lying,'' Dean said simply, twisting the knife that was still dug deep into her stomach. She let out a feral shriek, one that if Dean hadn't been the one inflicting the pain, he would have never believed a human could even make. Well, except for the fact she wasn't human.

''I...I'm not lying,'' the woman, _the demon,_ started again. ''I don't have a clue in Hell as to where Crowley is.'' Her eyes, flickering black on pure instinct, whether it be because of fear or intimidation tactic, stared him dead in the eye. ''Why does the great Sam Winchester want to speak with the King anyways?''

_Sam Winchester?_

_Oh, right._

_Shit._

Without another word, he ripped the knife out, replacing it with the First Blade in her chest. She flickered a demonic orange hue before falling limp. In that moment Dean couldn't help but wonder if the same would happen to him if he drove the Blade into his chest.

_Sam's chest._

* * *

'' _Crimes?''_ Castiel echoed, staring wide-eyed at the fellow angels that stood before him like a rabbit staring down the barrel of the gun. There was no possible outcome to this scenario that could turn out remotely well. He turned to Hannah, wild eyes searching her stone mask of a face for answers. ''Hannah? What is she talking about?''

Hannah still did not speak, glancing away. Cas saw her swallow uncomfortably for just a moment, before returning to her steely facade.

''After everything you have done for Heaven to be in such a state!'' The dark-haired angel spoke up again. _Azrael,_ Castiel thought, putting a name to the vessel. ''You claim to be in Heaven's best interest, Castiel, but it is you who has done us the most harm.''

''Where shall we start? Well; rebelling against Heaven, starting a civil war, trying to play God, murdering _thousands_ of angels, casting us out of Heaven. And, for what? Or rather, _who?''_

Silence hung heavy in the air. For the first time since getting his Grace back, Castiel felt as if he was going to be sick.

'' _The Winchesters._ Sam and Dean; the two mortals that Heaven made such a big deal over _centuries_ before they were born, to not even play their parts when it mattered the most. They _ruined_ you, Castiel. I mean, look at yourself. Look at your wings.'' She broke off, almost with a cruel, condescending smirk. ''Except you don't have your wings anymore. Just the knock-off version you _ripped off the backs_ of your so-called brother.'' She drew her angel blade, glinting chillingly in the artifical lighting. ''We should have done this a long time ago.''

'' _Wait.''_ A demanding voice cut in. Hannah had stepped in front of Azrael, grabbing her wrist of the hand that held the angel blade. ''Remember what we came here to do, sister. Not just him. _All of them.''_

A new ripple of fear surged through Castiel's veins, settling as a heavy lump in his gut. Hannah turned towards him, her cold composture in place.

''Where are the Winchesters, Castiel?"

* * *

'' _StopstopSTOP_ ,'' the girl shrilled, voice piercing his skull so loudly that Dean was half-concerned that she'd end up blowing his eardrums out. He back-handed her across the face, not bothering to linger on the fact that she must not be any older than 18, probably not even out of high school yet. Too bad she had sold her soul so early.

''Shh, all I need to know is where he is, sweet-heart,'' he whispered softly in her ear, trailing the edge of the knife across her cheek, holding back a dark chuckle as he felt her flinch away from him with a pathetic whimper.

''W- _who?'_ ' the girl, _Mallory,_ Dean reminded himself, sobbed. ''Let me go, _please.''_

_''_ I tell you what, tell me what I want and I'll let you go,'' Dean promised, sliding the knife from her cheek down to her throat, applying pressure ever so slightly to break the skin ever so slightly. Blood immediately flowed around the blade's edge. Dean salivated at the sight. It took every last inch of willpower not to swipe his thumb across the laceration and sample a taste. Somewhere in the back of his mind where Sam was tucked away, he wondered if he was hungry at the sight as well.

''Promise?'' The girl sobbed. It was the most pathetic thing Dean had ever seen in his life.

He smiled softly. ''Promise,''he cooed, words like honey. _How stupid was this bitch?_

Swallowing yet another sob, Mallory began to speak. ''It was two days ago. I was walking home from my friend's house when, when this man came up to-''

''All I need to know is where he is,''Dean snapped, getting impatient. The Mark, which had been quiet for the most part until now, stirred restless on his brother's forearm, itching for its next fix.

''Crossroads just a few minutes outside of town,''the girl squeaked, large black circles under her eyes from where her running mascara had stained.

Dean's lip curled into what may have been a half-smile, but the comforting the gesture was supposed to give never managed to reach his eyes. His eyes were alight with the promise of upcoming bloodshed. _The eyes of a rabid animal_. Chuckling softly, he pressed the knife that was still next to the girls's throat down harder, thick streams of blood running down her collarbone. She cried out in agony, the rank scent of fear practically suffocating Dean's senses.

'' _No! You- you said you were going to let me go!"_ She wailed thrashing about in the rope restraints that bound her to the chair, tears and snot staining her dirty face.

This time, Dean did smile. ''Oh, sweetheart. Didn't your mother ever tell you?'' He blinked, eyes glimmering obsidian, lips curling into a feral grin as the girl _screamed._

'' _Demons lie.''_

* * *

''I won't give you Sam and Dean,''Castiel snarled, purposely leaving out the part that the older Winchester was dead. _Worse than dead._ He lifted himself onto his hands and knees, but was kicked down by Azrael yet again. He wiped the blood from his nose off on his trenchcoat sleeve.

''Then we'll just have to bring them here, won't we?"Azrael said, shooting a glance at the third angel who was fiddling with- With his phone. _Fuck._ He must have dropped it in his fight.

It was dead silent except for the irritating dial tone of the cell and the rapid beating of Castiel's _ohsohuman_ heart.

* * *

'' _Bring me to Crowley,''_ Dean snarled in the crossroads demon's face, eyes flaring black with rage.

Instead of responding directly to his demand, the nameless demon stared at him with shocked eyes. ''Are you serious? Both of the Winchesters going black-eyed at the same time?''

_What?_

_Oh, for fuck's sake. Not this again._

He really ought to get back into his own vessel again. Sam's... _wounds_ had almost healed and there was an almost zero percent of infection anymore. Besides, the thing where everyone thinks he's Sam is getting really fucking _annoying._

Tightening the grip he had on the demon's throat until it was thrashing around in his grip, he tried again. '' _Where. Is. He.''_

The demon grinned, teeth stained red and disgusting with it's own blood. ''Bite me.''

The Mark once again stirred on his arm for the second time that day. Normally, Dean would have found that unsettling; after all, he had already killed two people in a matter of hours. That used to have kept it sated for weeks until it came back to bite him in the ass. Now it just seemed like an ever-present urge to _hunt, and maim and kill._ As a human he would have been horrified that the Mark had staken such a powerful claim on his soul. Now, Dean didn't give a damn. He'd give the Mark what it wanted, and then some.

He smirked, baring his teeth in the way a wild animal would as it fought off an enemy. The word ''okay,'' passed through his lips but it wasn't until he felt the tantalizing flavor of rich blood on his tongue that he realized he had quite literally _bitten_ the demon. Pulling away, he savored the brief flash of fear that passed over the crossroad demon's features as Dean licked the last traces of the scarlet fluid off his lips.

''Now- I'll ask once more,'' he purred, tracing the edge of the silver knife across the demon's chest,'' nicely. And then, well...You're going to have a lot more to show than a kinky bite mark.''

The demon stared back at him, eyes flaring their crossroads red hue, but did not back down. Instead,'' Sam Winchester. Look at you, back to your blood drinking habits, I see.'' He didn't miss the way that Dean stiffened as he drawled on. ''Not that I'm complaining, of course. After all, you did end up setting Lucifer out of his cage. Say, you mind doing that again? That'd-''

He didn't get to finish his sentence. Dean, in a split-second had replaced the hunting knife with the First Blade as he dug it into the side of the demon's throat. He was about to press down, to sever this _fucker's_ head when...

When his _goddamn phone_ went off. Snarling in fury, he fumbled for his phone in his pocket, wiping his blood-sticky fingers off on his over-shirt. He didn't even have time to growl into the phone before the voice from the other side cut him off.

'' _Sam Winchester,''_ the voice said from the other end. Dean's grip tightened considerably on the phone. The voice continued. '' _I am calling you on the behalf of Heaven. If you ever want to see Castiel alive again, I suggest-''_

''You suggest _nothing,''_ Dean snarled, quite aware for the first time that it was Sam's voice that was coming out, and not his. ''You listen here, you pompous _dick,_ I don't give a fuck about Castiel. So, go ahead and gut him or whatever the fuck you want. Hell, you'd be doing me a favor. He's not. My. _Fucking._ Problem.'' With that, Dean hung up the phone, slamming it down onto the table that sat beside the chair he interrogated in.

The chair that was very much empty.

* * *

_Ashmedai limped down the shadowed hallways, flinching uneasily at the shrill wails that echoed from somewhere off the rack as he made his way towards the Throne Room. He hesitated at the door, giving an unsteady knock before hearing the angry bark that belonged to no one other than the King himself. He inclined his head in a show of respect as he approached._

_''My King, I have urgent news on the Winchesters.''_

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are the reason I cry tears of happiness! Thank you for reading.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''One brother possessing the other, well isn't that just...lovely.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, belated Merry Christmas for anyone who celebrates! Have another chapter of this disaster.
> 
> On the note of New Year's, I've already got a fic whipped up that I'm quite proud of that's actually not all angst for once. Be proud of me!
> 
> Enjoy!

 

'' _Fuck!"_ Dean howled for the 13th time that night, slamming his fist into the drywall beside him. It gave way like paper to his rage. The demon he'd been interrogating, the _one thing_ that he had come across so far that may give him a clue as to where Crowley may be hiding, had escaped. Who would more than likely give every single detail back to the Demon King about his interrogation. That means he know's what's coming for him. He'll be prepared. Though it'd be impossible to put Dean down permanantly, he _did_ have almost every single demon in Hell on his side that could attack given his order. Now _that,_ could pose to be an issue.

Not to mention that he was wearing Sam's face. _His brother's._ Who had accidentally flashed black eyes at the scum-bag as he was torturing him. _This was turning into an even bigger shitstorm now._

Alright, he couldn't return to his own body, at least for now because that would leave Sam almost completely defenceless. Not that he'd really give a damn if baby bro kicked the bucket, but that he wanted it to be _him_ to do the honors, not some two-bit demon.

And then there was Cas. Apparently the God Squad had him under lockdown, for what Dean had no idea. He couldn't keep up with the number of times Cas had screwed over Heaven. And didn't particularly care, either. The over-grown bird could take care of himself.

But then...he wanted to kill him himself, too. And if he wanted to keep this whole brother-posessing-the other brother fiasco a secret until he was able to return to his own body, he had to at least make an _attempt_ to act like Sam. And his baby brother certainly wouldn't let his pet angel be spit-roasted by his own siblings, would he?

Already knowing the answer, Dean sighed, retrieving his, (well Sam's but who really's counting?)phone from the table. Well, would you look at that? He'd only cracked the screen a bit, a giant tear running through the middle of the screen. Staring at his reflection in it for a split-second, Dean couldn't help but flinch at the depthless black staring back at him. Shaking it off, he clicked his way to his brother's contacts, dialing Cas's numbers. He heard someone pick up.

''Alright, you winged sonsabitches, I'm listening. Where's Castiel?"

* * *

''He's on his way,''Azrael said to the fellow angels, hanging up Castiel's phone.

Hannah gave a curt nod. ''Prepare yourselves for a fight. As much as I hate to admit it, the Winchester's can put up a decent fight. They've already killed many of our brothers and sisters in cold blood.''

The third angel, Puria, cut in. ''But it is just _one_ Winchester, correct? The other one was killed.''

Hannah nodded in confirmation. ''Yes. Dean Winchester was killed by Metatron. And good riddance, if you ask me. He had too much of a hold over Castiel.'' She sighed, breaking off for a brief moment. ''I had assumed after his death that Castiel perhaps would have returned to us. But obviously he has fallen too far; the humans have corrupted him into falling from Heaven. His Grace continues to wane with each passing moment. It's only a matter of time.''

Azrael snorted in contempt. ''Well, it is quite obvious that Sam Winchester does not feel the same towards Castiel as he does him. You heard him the first time; he didn't care whether he lived or died.''

''What concerns me,''Hannah said. ''Is that the younger Winchester never struck me as an overly hostile person. I'd have thought for sure that our first call would have brought him here as fast as humanly possible.''

''Who knows,''Azrael muttered, shrugging. ''Perhaps his brother's death brought out some hidden demon within him.''

* * *

Castiel, who had long given up on trying to overhear what his sisters were discussing, coughed throatily, spitting up a disgusting glob of bloody saliva onto the ground in front of him. The angels had brought him to an abandoned building God knows where, stringing him up in chains that had been tied around the pipes, forcing himself to have to heave himself up every few moments to collect a gasp of precious oxygen. The angelic warding carved into the handcuffs had severely cut into whatever fragment of power Castiel had left; his arms ached more and more each time he had to pull himself up and his head ached in a certain way that brought back unpleasant memories of Naomi and her...experiments.

It was obvious by the way the angels were acting that Sam was on his way. He wondered briefly if they had tried to call Dean as well. Probably not, as they had all been informed that the elder Winchester perished in his battle with Metatron. He wasn't sure if he was disappointed or glad that his sisters wouldn't have tried to bring here. On one hand, he was relieved, as much as he resented his reputation with Heaven, he didn't want to have to witness a demon slaughter his own siblings. But then, without Dean that would mean Sam would be forced to come alone. A human going up against three pissed off angels couldn't possibly end well for the younger Winchester.

Castiel; for the first time in a long time, was scared. Not scared that Sam wouldn't come, but that he would and would end up paying the price for it.

* * *

Dean had no idea how powerful he was outside of his own meat-suit. It was proven already that his healing abilities weren't up to a hundred percent; the wounds Sam had inflicted on himself almost two weeks ago were just starting to scar, some of the deeper ones still scabbed over. If he had been in his original vessel and sustained the same wounds, they would have been healed in under a minute. The Mark kept his other vessels from death, but other than that it seemed that it was little more than a human's healing abilities that he possessed at the moment. And having to fight off God knows how many angels with his power level undetermined set off multiple warnings in Dean's head.

He knew that he could kill them if it came down to it, but he had to make sure that he didn't tap into his demonic abilities to keep up the facade that he was in fact, Sam. He decided that if it came down to it, if his or Castiel's lives were in immediate danger he would act. Perhaps, if he was lucky, then Cas wouldn't even be in the same room and Dean could just tear through them. He hoped for the latter. Stepping out of the stolen car he had been forced to ride in(Sam wouldn't have walked here on foot, now would he?), he pulled out the angel blade he had tucked in the back of his jeans and made is way up the hill that lead to the abandoned factory the angel's had told him to come to.

* * *

''And then the little brat _bit me!''_ Ashmedai informed a very-annoyed looking Crowley. He pulled down his collar to reveal the bite mark that still marred the side of his neck.

''Cut the theatrics,''Crowley snapped. ''What's your point? Sam Winchester tried to kill you, I'm shocked. A demon hunter, him, trying to kill you, a demon. Not exactly news to me. Now, before I end up cutting out your spleen and using it as a tool to bludgeon you with, is there anything _useful_ you could be telling me?"

''I- the Winchester, sir,''Ashmedai stuttered, gulping at his King's threat and seriously hoping that he was exaggerating. ''He- after he realized that I wouldn't give up your location, he was going to kill me.''

'' _Demon hunter_. _Demon,''_ Crowley repeated, getting more impatient by the milisecond.

''Sir... he wielded the First Blade.''

'' _The First Blade?"_ Crowley repeated, eyes wide in disbelief. As in the First Blade that belonged to Dean Winchester, the Knight of Hell? _His_ Knight of Hell? What the bloody fuck was Moose doing with it, trying to kill one of his demons? He knew that the only one that could use the Blade was-

'' _Be gone!''_ Crowley barked, snapping his fingers. The demon, whatever the hell it's name was, disappeared in a gust of smoke. His lips twitched into a small smile.

''So that's what you've been doing all this time, Squirrel...''he muttered under his breath.

''One brother possessing the other, well isn't that just... _lovely.''_

* * *

_''Come out, come out wherever you are!"_ Dean singsonged, angel blade swinging back and forth. The Mark ached at the seperation from the First Blade; Dean had no choice but to leave it behind, afterall, he couldn't risk being caught with it in Sam's body. He had tucked it away in a dimensional pocket, one that only he could get into so that he was in need of the Blade he could summon it to his hand with a mere thought.

Castiel was strung up in the middle of the room, chains binding his arms above his head which hung low in exhaustion. The angel's Grace was little more than a flicker under his vessel's skin. It was clear that his batteries were finally starting to burn out.

One of the other angel's stood guard next to their hostage, blade held up against his throat. Two others stepped forward to meet him. _Hannah,_ Dean recognized after a moment, wearing the same grey pantsuit ensemble, eyes hard as diamonds as she regarded him with disgust. The other, a tall dark-haired woman, stood beside her. Both wielded twin angel blades.

''Sam Winchester,''Hannah greeted him, though there was no emotion lingering in her tone. It was obvious they didn't call him here to talk. The Mark on Sam's(Dean's) arm sung it's approval.

His lips twitched into a grin. ''I'd like to retrieve one dying angel, please.''

The dark-haired angel stepped forward, shoving Hannah out of the way. ''That's not going to happen. If anyone is going to be making demands today, it will be us.''

''Will it now?"Dean drawled, taking the slightest step forward towards the angels. ''Or what?"

''Or both you and Castiel will be put down,''Hannah said, giving a slight nod to the third angel, who grabbed a fistful of Castiel's hair, yanking his head up, pressing her angel blade against Cas's neck. The dying angel's eyes were closed, Dean assumed that he didn't even have the strength to open them anymore, and his face was streaked with grime and scarlet blood. For the first time in a long time, pity stirred at the base of the demon's heart.

''Oh, really?" Dean said, taking a more obvious step forward. The angels' grip on ther angel blades tightened noticibly. ''Because, I don't think I agree to those terms.''

''Tough,''the dark-haired woman snarled. Dean's half-smile spread into a full-out cheshire grin as he surged forward, shoving his own blade into the bitch's throat. She died with a ear-splitting scream, blinding light erupting from her mouth, making the demon flinch back as the Mark relished in the promise of newly spilt blood.

Hannah stood frozen for a few moments; Dean shoved her aside, making his way towards Castiel. The angel that held the knife against his throat yelled for him to stay back. Dean ignored her completely, thrusting the angel blade into her chest. The angel's vessel was a delicate young thing; couldn't be more than 15. At one time, Dean would have felt sorry for the poor girl. Now, he didn't feel anything at all other than dull satisfaction of yet another kill to feed the Mark.

Pain exploded from his shoulder. Snarling, he whipped around to find Hannah, ripping her angel blade out of his shoulder. He felt his eyes slide into black on instinct, heard her gasp, growl at the demon. Rushing forward, she attempted to stab him yet again, this time through the heart. He grabbed her wrist mid-air, hearing a distinct snap of delicate bone as she dropped her weapon. He grabbed her by the throat with one hand, angel blade in the other as he lifted her off the ground just so her toes were the only thing able to touch the concrete floor. He laughed at the sight; an angel, one of God's mighty warriors, brought down to the level he had been on so many times by them. _Oh, how the tables have turned._

''Abomination,''she choked out, doing little more than feed the inferno that raged on inside him. Her voice was cut off by the blade cutting into the soft flesh of her throat, the distinctive white-blue gleam of Grace slowly begin to trickle out. Holding his massive palm over the wound to make sure none of it escaped, he dragged her limp form over to where Castiel was still strung up. His eyes still remained closed, if Dean hadn't heard the alarmingly slow beating of his heart, he would have assumed he was dead.

''Alright buddy, drink up,''he whispered, removing his hand from Hannah's throat before he shoved it up against Castiel's almost-blue lips.

The reaction was almost immediate. Cas's eyes flew open, looking down at Hannah's limp form before Sam. The shock and betrayal reflecting in the angel's eyes began to tug on a few of Dean's heartstrings. He shoved Hannah's neck closer in response. Once Castiel began to glow, Dean let the body drop to the ground, dead. There was a massive explosion of light that had the demon hissing at the intensity, before everything returned to normal. Opening his own eyes, he came face-to-face with Castiel.

''Sam, what have you done?"Castiel cried out in anguish.

Dean shrugged in response. ''You were dying. She was going to kill you.''

''And so you force me to ingest my sister's Grace?"he snapped, disgust bubbling in his stomach as he realized what he had just done. What _Sam_ had done. ''Are you really that far gone, Sam, that you would make me partake in _cannibalism?_ Has your brother's death finally driven you off the edge?''

Dean whipped around in his rage, ready to bark back a stinging retort, when a new voice entered the conversation. One that made his skin crawl and uncontained fury bubble in his veins.

''While Sam may be well on his way to borderline insanity, Feathers, he isn't quite there yet. In fact, _Sam_ didn't make you do anything. Did he, _Dean?''_ The familar British accent crowed. Forcing himself to turn around slowly, Dean came face to face with the one he'd been hunting down for days; the King himself . He was barely aware that he was snarling over the roaring of blood in his ears.

Crowley grinned. ''Hello, boys.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos are nice if you want to leave them :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Crowley face off...in Sam's body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, so my WiFi has been really crappy lately, sometimes it works sometimes it doesn't. And then I have like 7 things due in the next week that I haven't even started, but here I am writing another chapter. So, enjoy!
> 
> (This chapter contains implied rape though there is nothing actually talking directly about, it just in case anyone is triggered by it.)

A number of events occurred in the next four seconds.

Dean could barely make out the ferocious snarling over the deafening roar of blood thrumming in his ears. At one point in his life he may have been concerned about blowing the drums out but now none of that mattered, because he wasn't human, couldn't be affected by such mortal injuries. _Not anymore._

In that moment, nothing mattered more than the promise of the King of the Damned's blood staining the unforgiving stone beneath their feet. He felt himself lunging forward, limbs betraying his own control as though he had been taken over by some unseen force. One that blanketed his vision in red, _so much red._

_Why was it red?_ His eyes were green. _No,_ he thought. _I'm a demon now, that means they're black._ Or were they hazel now, with Sammy's stolen eyes?

_Sammy._

The split-second thought of his little brother vanquished the darkness that had devoured his last thread of control as was slammed back into awareness. It was only then that he realized his back had been crashed against the steel wall of the warehouse. He felt his spine grimace in pain, the Mark struggling to heal the unfamiliar host.

''Would you look at that?''The familar accent rang in his ears. Blinking the mist out of his eyes, Dean came face to face with the King himself. It was only then that he realized that the ever-present animalistic snarling he had been hearing was coming from _him_ as he felt another fearsome growl build in his throat, pulling at the invisible restraints that bound him _._

Crowley grinned, an ugly thing that was all-teeth and looked out of place on his meat-suit's features. ''All tied up and no where to go,''he murmured, trailing his gaze approvingly up and down the demon's body, which Dean realized with a jolt of rage was _Sam's body._

Obviously Crowley too had noticed for he let out a short laugh that sent an unnerving bout of shivers racking up his spine that only proved to stoke the ever-present fire of _rage_ that burned in Dean's gut. ''I have to say, I'm missing the old meat, though. Never was a fan of Moose's hair-do, but I suppose those _gorgeous_ black peepers make up for that.'' Dean snapped at the hand that had begun to trail over his neck and jawline, eyes slipping into glaring black on instinct.

''I'm going to rip you apart,''Dean growled lowly, pulling forcefully at his bindings, to no avail. The First Blade, which Dean had summoned to his hand in his attack, had been discarded across the room. While that really wasn't a problem, after all Dean could will it into his grasp with little more than a thought, it might have given him enough juice to break out of these god-damn holds.

''No you're not,''Crowley said, drawing his hand back to his side. While loosing a finger or two wouldn't affect him all that much, he did quite enjoy having all ten of them, thank you very much. ''You're not strong enough.''

Dean actually laughed at that, a dark, ominous sound that sent a shock of heat through the King's veins. ''I'm a Knight, ass-hat. You're just a cross-roads demon playing dress-up. You know it, I know it, _Hell_ knows it.''

''Then tell me, love, why are _you_ the one being pinned up against the wall?'' While Crowley would have loved to hear the ex-hunter's attempt of a witty comeback, he pressed on before he had a chance to reply. ''Face it, I'm stronger than you, Dean. Maybe not in raw power, no, the demonic tattoo on your arm gives you the advantage on that one, I'll admit. But I have more skill, more experience. I have powers that you couldn't even _dream_ of weilding.'' _At least, not yet._ Crowley didn't dwell on the thought.

Dean glared, lip curled into a snarl. ''You still can't kill me.''

''Not you, no,''Crowley admitted, bring his angel blade up to Dean's neck, just brushing the sharp end against his artery. ''But I can kill Sam.''

Dean stiffened. Somewhere buried deep in his concience where the tiniest flicker of his humanity remained, his default instincts kicked in. Three words that had been beaten into him both figuratively and literally since he had been old enough to understand what they meant screamed in his ears. Words that had been like a religion to him, the one constant in a world of uncertainty and nightmares that had kept him going after all this time. _Look after Sammy._

''You listen to me, you son of a bitch,''Dean growled, words chillingly steady as he stared Crowley in the eye. ''You hurt my brother, hell, you _fucking touch_ a hair on his head, I swear I will end you. There will be no deserted place, no pocket demension that you can hide from me. And when I find you, Crowley, I will tear you apart from the inside out and feed you to your oh-so-loyal demons. After all, they were so eager for a change in leadership before, I'm sure they'd have a hell of a time feasting on whatever's left of their pussy of a King.''

'' _You bastard!''_ Crowley roared, eyes flashing their natural demonic-red hue. His true form's head reared back, fangs flashing dangerously. Dean could smell the rank scent of sulfur from it's breath, curling his lip in disgust. ''I may not know how to kill you, but I've got you now, Dean. And I'm not letting you get away, not this time. You're mine now. I'll find away to destroy you, but until I do, I can do _whatever the fuck_ I want to you.'' His menacingly long fangs were bared into the hideous parody of a smile. ''How do you think it'll feel, Dean, as I take whatever I want from you _whenever I want_ while you're in your _brother's body?_ After all, all we've got is forever.''

Disgust and something else roiled in Dean's gut. _Fear,_ he realized with a start. He was _scared._ Swallowing down the bile that was threatening to rise in his throat, he forced out, ''You're sick.''

Crowley chuckled, tracing the edge of his blade across the delicate skin under his eye. Leaning forward until Dean could feel the demon's hot breath on his neck that made his stomach twist. '' _I know.''_

''You know,''Crowley continued, leaning back as his voice returned to normal. ''I tried to play nice, I really did. Raising you from the dead, teaching you how to embrace your second chance at life. I would have made you _great,''_ he hissed. ''I would have made you mine. _My personal Knight of Hell._ But I soon came to realize that you obviously had no interest in it, among other things. But I thought to myself, 'he'll come around. Soon, he'll realize what he really wants.' But then your blasted brother and angel had to come sniffing around. They were going to take you away from me, what was _rightfully mine._ But then you said that you wanted to kill them. I'll admit, that surprised me, Dean, I had never assumed that you had fallen so far that you'd kill the two people you care about most in this world. But now, I realize that that was all an _act._ If it wasn't, then we most certainly wouldn't be in this situation now, would we? You've had every opportunity to kill them, _but you haven't._ So, tell me, Dean, _what are you, really?_ You're not a demon, not a full one anyways. If you were, Moose and Feathers would have been dead weeks ago. But then, you're not human, either. Riding around in your brother's meat-suit, you're no better than the Devil himself.'' Dean actually snarled at that, the first reaction he had dragged out of him since he had begun talking, which made Crowley grin inwardly. ''That's your problem, Dean, always balancing on the edge between good and evil. Why don't you finally make a decision and _pick a bloody-''_

He never finished his sentence. The orange glow that erupted from inside his throat glimmered in the reflection of the angel blade that had been shoved through his skull. The bonds that had been holding Dean disappeared immediately, as he collapsed to the ground in an ungraceful heap. Eyes wide with surprise, Dean glanced up to come face to face with no one other than Castiel.

''Hello, _Dean,''_ the angel snapped.

* * *

''Cas, I--''Dean gasped out, only to be cut off as the angel grabbed his collar and hauled him to his feet.

''Don't you _dare_ call me that,''the angel growled, the newly-stolen Grace flashing an iridescent blue in his heated glare.

Shoving him off, Dean grimaced and forced himself to gather his bearings. ''Jeez, what crawled up your ass?'' he snarked as he brushed the dirt off of his shirt.

''Possessing your _brother?"_ Castiel snarled with so much force behind it Dean was almost certain that he was going to either punch him or kill him.

''Calm down, it's temporary.'' Dean cast an approving glance down at the now lifeless form of Crowley with a dark satisfaction burning in his gut. ''Trust me, I'm not exactly a fan of the whole thing, either.''

''Dean,''Cas pressed on, Dean could almost taste the waves of judgement rolling off of the angel. It made the last shred of his humanity want to curl up on its self and sulk at the angel's anger towards him. It made the demon inside him roil in fury, attempting to yet again drown the last sliver of good in him in endless black smoke. ''You're possessing _Sam.''_

Dean rolled his eyes. ''Yeah, I'm quite aware, _Castiel.''_ He felt a small tug of satisfaction at the way the angel flinched at the use of his full name. Dean hadn't called him by it in so long, it made it all the more like the angel meant nothing to him, no hidden affections or vivid memories tied to the name like what Dean had used to call him. They were no longer friends, or allies or maybe even something more. _They were enemies._

Cas stared at him in utter disbelief. '' _Why?"_ he demanded. ''Why in _fuck's name-_ what- _''_ The angel couldn't find words to describe what he was feeling at that moment.

Dean hesitated for a moment. ''I have my reasons.''

''What reason is that, Dean?''Castiel edged on. Dean gritted his teeth together. The angel _needed_ to stop now, or else this was going to end ugly. The Mark was a living thing on his arm, livid and wild as it sank it's fangs deeper into his forearm in a demand to be sated. To be fed. Dean dug his fingernails into his palms to distract him from the flames that devoured him from the inside out. ''What could _possibly_ have forced you to possess your own brother- like Gadreel did, the same angel you fought so hard for your brother to expel. Like _Luci-''_

_''He tried to kill himself!''_ Dean turned on him with a sudden roar, eyes flashing dangerously. Anything for the angel to shut up. He really didn't feel like accidentally butchering one of his friends( _enemies now,_ he reminded himself) in one of the Mark's violent rampages. If he ended up killing the angel, he wanted it to be well-planned out and special. He didn't dwell on the word _if. Of course could kill the angel if it came down to it, I just don't want to right now, that's all,_ he convinced himself.

''He--''Castiel broke off, staring at him with wide eyes. ''No, you- you're wrong. He wouldn't...''he trailed off into silence.

''He would and he did,''Dean said flattly. ''I found him, cuts all over him as he bled out on the floor. There were no signs of a struggle, Castiel. It was obvious that he did it to himself.''

''I don't understand,''the angel whispered, eyes glassy yet dull, as though the once vibrant blue had been drained from his once beautiful gaze. ''I never thought-''He cleared his throat, obviously realizing who exactly he was speaking to. ''But he's alright now?"

Dean pulled his sleeve up wordlessly, not the one with the Mark branded onto it, he seriously doubted that Cas would like that, and showed off his now almost-completely healed scars that blemished the pale skin of his brother.

Cas gazed forlornly at the raised  pink skin before shaking his head as though to clear his thoughts. ''You saved him.'' Dean didn't respond and so the angel pressed on. ''Dean, this is good. This means that somewhere, no matter how deep down, you still have some of your humanity intact. We can cure you. All we need-''

''Yeah, that's not going to happen,''Dean cut him off.

Castiel frowned. ''Why wouldn't you want that?''

''I told you before, I'm free, Cas,''he said, not conciously realizing the use of the angel's nickname, only speaking it out of habit. ''I like this, what I am. I'm okay.''

The angel gave him a sad smile. ''No Dean, you're not,'' he murmured, eyes flashing with a sudden ferocity, lunging suddenly toward the demon. Dean caught a split-second glance of the silver flash of handcuffs and realizing what he was trying to do before Cas could catch him, Dean had disappeared.

* * *

It felt good to be back in his own skin.

The man flexed his fingers, making sure everything was in working order. Whatever had begun to deteriorate while his body had been uninhabited the Mark would end up taking care of he assumed, afterall, it liked to have its host in pristine shape at all times. _The Mark,_ he thought, pulling a bloodied sleeve to unveil the jawbone scar standing out against his stark pale skin. Almost like a reflex, the brand sent another jolt of raw heat through his veins. The man clung to the feeling as the high began to fade almost as soon as it came. _Good_ , he thought. It seemed that everything was intact.

Glancing over at the second body that had been sprawled beside him, the man felt his lips twitch into the ghost of a smile.

'' _Rise and shine, Sammy.''_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed :) Kudos and comments are great if you want to leave them.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam finally wakes up, only to get one big surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DID IT, I finally finished the chapter! Honestly, I have no excuse for not posting, expect for lack of motivation and pure laziness on my part. But, voila! Here it is. Hope y'all enjoy :)

_''Rise and shine, Sammy.''_

Sam shot awake, sharp waves of nausea lancing down his spine as his joints screamed their displeasure, as though they hadn't been used in months. His brain ached, muscles stiff and seemingly foreign to him as though he had landed badly in his own body. He let out a groan. _What the hell was going on?_ Where was he?

His question was answered almost immediately as his eyes struggled to adjust to the near-blackness of the mystery room. Even in the pitch blackness, the shadow-y lumps of his surroundings gave away his location. Sam's room. But how the hell did he get here? And why couldn't he remember anything?

His hunter instincts were on high alert, entire body tense with unease and the certain feeling that _something_ definitely wasn't right. Eyes carefully scanning the shadows, he made a move to reach for his bedside lamp, only to lunge backwards in shock as it turned on by itself. Reflexively, he made a move to grab for his gun he always kept loaded under his pillow, only to realize with a sickening jolt that it wasn't there anymore. Sam never went to bed without some kind of personal protection nearby. Two things were made obvious in that moment; one- someone had removed the gun from under his pillow. Two- he _definitely_ wasn't alone.

''Woah there. Easy, tiger. ''A low murmur came from the other side of the room where the wall was still cast in half darkness by the doorway. The voice was gravelly and unusually rough, as though it hadn't been used in quite a while. Sam recognized it almost immediately.

'' _Dean.''_ The name escaped his lips without a single thought. The man's features may have been slightly different, but there was no mistaking him. No longer wearing layers of flannel and canvas but a simple yet expensive-looking leather jacket, hair ruffled that was slightly longer than Sam was used to, the chilling hardness of flat green eyes that had lost their normal brilliant lustre. It was Dean. But then, it wasn't.

Sam hadn't realized that he had managed to stumble off of his bed and storm across the room until he felt his arm press against his brother's ( _no,_ this _imposter's)_ neck. Red hot waves of fury came crashing down over his vision as he dug his elbow in the demon's neck. Dean still hadn't moved an inch, not even batting an eye at Sam's display of aggression. It made Sam all the more furious. Pressing down harder on the demon's( _yes, that was right, he's a demon. Not your brother,)_ throat, he let out an enraged snarl that was on the borderline of sounding remotely human.

'' _You bastard.''_ Letting go of his hold on the demon, he reared backwards only to land a solid punch on it's jaw, followed by a swift jab to his abdomen. Dean doubled over with a soft groan, quickly covered up by a mirthless chuckle.

''Good to see you, too, baby brother,''the monster said, slowly standing back up to full height, wiping the blood that had begun to trickle from his now-split lip with his sleeve in disdain.

A million questions rattled through the hunter's mind, before settling on the obvious one.

''What the hell are you doing here?'' _And more importantly_ , Sam thought, _why wasn't he trying to fight back_? Sam had fully assumed that Dean had come here only for a fight, though that was obviously not the case. Still, Sam didn't let his guard down.

''Doing what I do best, looking after my pain in the ass little bro.'' Dean still hadn't lifted a finger against him. What happened to ' _ripping his throat out'? Oh yeah, and with his teeth, at that._

''What're you talking about?"Sam shot back. Why would he be needed to be- _No. He couldn't..._ No. _He couldn't mean that, could he...?_ There was no possible way that Dean could have found about about Sam's little breakdown all those weeks ago, Sam reminded himself. But still, he couldn't shake the unnerving feeling that Dean knew _something._

''I think you know damn well what I'm talking about." When Sam didn't answer immediately, the demon let out an angry growl deep in his throat. ''Not going to fess up? Fine. But do tell me one thing, what exactly do you remember?" His brother's (green) eyes were focused on him with a certain intensity that made Sam's guts twist in unease. It was becoming blindingly obvious that he ought to know _something._ But, that was the thing. He _didn't._

Confusion quickly morphed into anger. This conversation was going in circles, getting stranger and more unnerving by the second. As he desperately tried to figure out what Dean could possibly be talking about, he was met with a solid wall that kept him from thinking back as to what he had been doing these past few weeks. ''Remember _what?_ Dean, I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, or what you _want_. I mean, I wake up randomly in my room with no recollection of how I got here, only to be confronted with _you._ What happened to your 'stay the hell away from me,' act, huh? Why don't you answer some of _my_ questions?"

Dean remained silent, filling the entire atmosphere of the room with an unsettling sense of eerieness. Finally, he let out a sort of _hmm,_ the only acknowledgement Sam earned from his outburst.

''Why're you here, Dean?"Sam asked, quieter now, meek and uncertain and slowly releasing the pressure from his brother's throat. Sam hadn't the slightest clue what he was doing, or really even what was going on. Why couldn't he remember these past few weeks? It was though a sheet had been put over his vision, like he had been walking blindfolded and senseless throughout the past couple weeks, like he _knew_ something had happened but when he tried to recall the events, all he was able to accomplish was the beginnings of a nasty migraine and the sinking, disturbing pit in his gut that _something_ wasn't right.

Dean gave a half-hearted snort, shoving the loosened grip that Sam had on him off, sending the younger Winchester stumbling backwards a few steps, snapping him out of his own thoughts. Sam couldn't help but notice the slightest flinch that rose from Dean as he let out a startled grunt as he fell backwards into the nightstand. It was the small things like these, the simplest of gestures, that was able to rekindle the flame within his chest. _Hope._ Hope that somehow, even if it was just the slightest sliver, that Dean's humanity still resided within him, beneath layers of rank smoke and brimstone that bathed his soul. That maybe, just maybe, Dean still cared the slightest bit for his well-being.

''I told you,''Dean muttered. ''Just checking in. God knows the trouble you'd get yourself into without supervision, Sammy.''

Sam couldn't help it. ''And what happened to the whole wanting to kill me thing?"

''Plans change,''Dean shot back automatically, as though on a reflex. A defence mechanism, almost. As though Dean was trying to hide something, something deeper. Something that he didn't want anyone to see. Sam was having none of that.

''Bull,''Sam shot back. ''You know what I think, Dean? I think that your whole act- back at the bar? It's all an act. It still is. You- " Sam was forced to be cut off by the knife that had been pressed against his throat, just hard enough to feel the sharp scrape of the blade's edge against his Adam's apple as he swallowed in unease. Dean's eyes were black as he forced Sam's back up against the wall.

''You don't think I'm going to kill you, _hmm_ Sammy?"the demon hissed out, the smirk that curled his lips as sharp as the blade that had begun to ever-so slightly dig into the vulnerable flesh of his neck. ''You think that your big brother still gives a damn about your life?''

Sam forced himself to hold his brother's unflinching black stare. ''I know he does.''

Dean let out a horrible sound that may have been a laugh , more like a hideous snarl as it ripped its way through Dean's throat. Sam couldn't help the way his insides curled in on themselves, the chills that racked all the way up his spine, making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. _It's not him,_ Sam reminded himself. _It's not Dean._

Oh, but it was.

Sam could deny it all he wanted, claim over and over again that the demon that was staring him in the face wasn't his brother, but only a monster wearing a face, the Mark taking control of him. That everything that Sam had been doing was the only way to get Dean back. But the truth was, Dean had been here all along. The demon _was_ Dean. It was the darkest parts of him. The darkness that had been building within him ever since their mom died, the horrible black that had tainted his soul as he carved his way throughout the rack, the same stain he had carried within him all these years. The evil that had been long buried within him. Taking on the Mark of Cain had only unveiled the monster that had been lurking inside his soul all this time, that becoming a demon hadn't completely destroyed the person that he had been before like Sam forced himself to believe over and over again, but it was who he had been all this time. The Mark of Cain, becoming a demon, had only brought out that part of him. The part that he had tried so hard to escape for all these years.

Sam couldn't bear to watch his brother suffer another moment.

It was only then that Sam realized the weight that had been crushed against his windpipe, the knife that had threatened to bury itself into the soft skin of his throat had disappeared. Dean had his back facing him, hiding his expression in the shadows that had cast across his face, Sam imagined that his eyes were black.

''You don't know anything,'' Dean muttered. Sam noticed that the grip the hand that held the silver blade had gone slack. Sam sucked in a hesitant breath before responding.

''I _know,''_ he started cautiously, making a careful move towards his brother who still had his back turned. ''That you don't want to be like this. This _thing,_ becoming a demon. The Dean I know would never have chosen to be like this, to become the monster we've spent our entire lives hunting. You would have hated it, more than anything else in this world. And you'd have wanted me to do whatever it took to get you, the _real_ you, back.''

I _know_ that you're angry at me, after everything we've gone through these past months. After everything I said. You think that I'd rather you just stay gone. I- I know I can't take those words back, but please know that I'm sorry, Dean. I never meant to hurt you like that.''

And more than anything, I know you're angry at yourself, at what you've become. That when you look in the mirror, you hate to see just how far you've fallen. Trust me, I've _been_ there.'' It was true. The horrid memories of all those years ago, the _blood,_ every bad act that he had committed, all the things he had said to people he _loved,_ it didn't just go away. Sam had hated what he was doing, what he had done to himself. He would call himself all sorts of terrible names; _monster, vampire, abomination._ But the one thing that Sam would always remember, how had wanted, more than anything to stop. That somehow a miracle would occur and he would come home, demon blood-free, and feel his brother's arms wrap around him in a welcoming embrace. That everything, every _horrible_ thing that Sam had been forced to do would disappear, that Dean would forgive him and the blood and all the terrible things that had come with it would become little more than a nightmare in the back of his head. Sam had no doubt in his mind that Dean, the _real_ Dean, no matter how far deep down his humanity was buried, was feeling the exact same. Sam hated it.

''You think that you'll never be able to come back from the edge, that it's easier if you stay away. It's easier to push us, push _me_ away, than to let us help you. But I know better, hell, I've _been_ there. Please, listen to me. This isn't _you,_ Dean.'' _Closer, just a bit closer..._

Dean, who had been silent for Sam's entire speech, let out a harsh chuckle. Sam flinched away, but his brother still didn't turn around to face him. He swallowed down the grief that threatened it's way up through his throat. It wasn't as though his words alone would cause Dean to wake up, Sam scolded himself, as he shrugged off the hurt from the demon's laughter at his words.

''You think you've got it all figured out, Sam, don't you?" The demon's voice was flat. He was yet to turn around and face his brother as Sam took another hesitant step towards him. ''But you've got it all wrong. I _like_ what I am. This power inside me, you think of it as an infection, something that has been taking over me from the inside. Consuming me. You think, that I _want_ your help. But, you know what, Sammy?'' He whirled around, too fast to be humanly possible as he threw his brother into the nearest wall, just as dozens upon dozens of supernatural beings had in the past, catching the hunter off guard as whatever Sam had in his hands was knocked onto the floor. His eyes flooded with black, the Mark hissing it's satisfaction throughout his veins in a blissful sense of euphoria. '' _I like the disease.''_

He shot a distasteful glance at the demon knife that had been dropped by Sam in his sudden display of violence. He snorted in amusement, kicking the blade out of Sam's reach as he regained his footing. ''Really, Sam? What the hell were you planning on doing with that? You and I both know you'd never stab me. You wouldn't dare risk hurting your big brother.'' Not that it'd kill him, anyways, Dean thought with a small spark of satisfaction. With Lucifer's Brand on his forearm and the demon blood running through his veins, only the First Blade was powerful enough to kill him. A blade that only Dean could wield. And it wasn't as though he was planning to use it on himself any time soon.

His brother let out a short laugh, surprising the demon. ''Good thing I don't want to kill you, then.''

Before Dean could shoot back a retort, Sam lunged from his position curled up on the ground, and before the demon could react, two silver cuffs clasped around his wrists. Dean didn't have to look at them to realize what they were and what they did. He could already feel the sigils on the handcuffs take effect, as though someone or something had drained all the power that he had surging through his veins only moments before. The Mark snarled it's fury, lashing out in blind rage, digging it's fangs deeper into Dean's forearm as the demon thrashed around in his bindings, as he finally realized that no matter what he did, he wasn't able to break free. For the first time since Dean had woken up with black eyes on his bed all those months ago, the dull embers that used to have been fear stirred within his gut. It was then that he realized. _He was scared._

An inhuman growl ripped it's way from his throat as he once again started yanking at his bindings with renewed vigor. '' _You son of a bitch.''_

Sam's face was a mask of anger and determination, lips pressed in a thin line, hazel eyes flat and sharp as flint. _Those had been his eyes once,_ Dean thought with a sudden jolt.

''This isn't you, Dean,''his little brother repeated.

''And I'm not going to let you stay like this a moment longer.''

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all my subscribers, I love you all so much! And also a huge thank you to everyone who reads. You're the reason I keep writing.
> 
> Comments and kudos are great if you want to leave them :)
> 
> No promises, but I may be able to get a chapter up this week if everything works out the way I want.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam had always had this thing with blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter gets pretty dark, for both Sam and Dean. It also mentions suicidal thoughts, so if you are triggered please tread carefully.

'' _You've reached the voicemail of_ Castiel, _please leave a message at the tone.''_

Sam's fingers tightened harshly around the cell, taking a deep breath to keep himself from doing something rash like cracking the phone against the tabletop as he waited for the beep.

''Uh- Hey, Cas. It's me. It's- it's been a while, trust me I know, but I really could use your help right now.'' Sam paused, taking solace in the white noise that emitted from the phone as he prepared for what he was about to say next.

''I've got him, Cas,''Sam continued after a good 15 seconds of dead silence, all except for Sam's harsh breathing as he struggled to force his next words out. ''I've got Dean, and I, I just-- I really need some help right now man, because..I don't know if I'm going to able to do this on my own, man. And-'' _And I'm scared,_ Sam finished silently. Going into a hunt or facing off against a big bad not knowing if he was going to come back out alive or not, Sam was no stranger to fear. Ever since his father had let him come along with him and Dean on a hunt, Sam had always had that adrenaline rush that coursed through his veins, twisting his stomach into knots, making him light-headed and nauseous. The same feeling had followed him into adulthood, so much that Sam had become intimately familiar with the surge. That sudden jolt of anxiety, of anticipation that he carried with him right up until the point where their monster of the week met it's fate. But never fear.

This was different. This wasn't some random monster that had been tearing up the people of some random backwoods town. This was _Dean._ Dean who at four years old had raised him even before Sam could walk. When he was eight and Sam had just been told what would have been any child's worst possible nightmare, that the legends of monsters everyone had been raised up on were in fact real, it was Dean who wiped away his tears and promised that he would always keep him safe. When Sam was seventeen and stood waiting at the nearest bus stop to take him far, far away from his father's iron rule, it was Dean who lugged his bags onto the bus, lips pressed harshly into a tight-lipped attempt of a smile as he was forced to watch the person who he cared most about in a world full of nightmares and death, leave him behind for the promise of a new life without him.

Dean _knew_ him. He knew the exact buttons to press to get the perfect reactions out of Sam, playing him like an instrument until he figured out a way to escape the cure. And no matter how hard Sam tried to convince himself that he wouldn't let Dean, the demon wearing Dean's face into his head, he was scared. Scared that Dean would know just the right thing to say to set him off, to break him, and that the demon would walk free into the outside world. Sam couldn't _bare it_ if he let that happen. This was his only shot at getting his brother back, and if he screwed it up-- well, Sam would make sure he wouldn't survive the next time he decided to slit his wrists.

***

Sam had always had this thing with blood.

He was fourteen when John had finally allowed Sam to accompany on a hunt. The case they had been on today would be nothing more to him than a simple milk run, but even now Sam could remember the raging anticipation that flooded through his younger-self's veins, along the cold flash of fear at the mere prospect of being forced to take another living person's life. It had been a werewolf, one that had been isolated so long from civilization that it had long become more animal than human. It had been terrorizing the people of a small town in Texas, mutilating its victims and tearing out hearts as it went, managing to rack up a total of almost a dozen victims before they rolled into town.

He could remember the paralyzing terror that overtook him as he came face to face with the beast. Both Dean and John tossed aside as though they were nothing more than insects to the wolf(perhaps they were in its eyes, no more than their next meal), Sam levelling his gun at the creatures head as it bared his fangs in a mockery towards him, as though it was goading him on, knowing full-well that he couldn't possibly make a move against him. John screaming at him to shoot, _just shoot, damn it!_ Sam had frozen, even as the creature advanced on him, claws flashing out towards his chest, finally becoming tired of toying with its food. It wasn't until he heard that ear-splitting crack of a gunshot, the warm splatter of scarlet that bathed his entire face as he cracked his eyes open that Sam realized he had managed to shoot the wolf. He could remember the crimson flood that escaped the bullet hole in its skull, the sudden wave of crippling nausea that overtook him as he collapsed onto his knees, retching at the carnage, Dean rubbing his back comfortingly as John began to collect the supplies to burn the remains out back without a word towards him.

He was 26 when Ruby had finally convinced him to start drinking demon blood. The first time she had even suggested it, he had shoved her away with such sudden force that it sent her crashing into the wall behind her, revolted even at the though alone. Even a demon, how could one possibly even consider the prospect of drinking another creature's blood? It was orthodox, _inhumane,_ he repeated to himself over and over, days after Ruby had disappeared on him. There was no _possible way_ that she could ever convince him to do it. _Ever._

He was drunk the first time. _Drunk_ of course being the understatement of the year. More like being hammered out of his skull. The latest crossroads demon he had summoned had turned down his deal, as usual, even as he _begged_ for them to let him trade places with his brother in Hell. It was Sam's fault afterall that his brother was in Hell in the first place; that because he had been so stupid to turn his back on his enemy for even a second that he got himself killed. And Dean being _Dean,_ couldn't bare the mere prospect of being left alone in the world, so yet again he took the place of the self-sacrificing marytr, offering up his soul to bring his baby brother back from the dead.

Ruby had shown up after, not offering him any consolidation, of course, just regarding him with cold, judgemental eyes as he cried himself dry. She had been caught off guard, when he brought it up. He had asked if it would make a difference, that it would give him the strength to take down Lillith, to finally get vengance for Dean. She had answered almost immediately, _yes,_ as she handed him a knife and Sam drank into her. He could remember it, the sudden sense of euphoria that enveloped him from the inside out, like the mother's embrace he had never known. He was enslaved the moment it passed his lips.

It ruined him. Even with all the good he managed to dig out of it, there was not one single plausible justification of what he had done. Killing Lillith had unleashed Lucifer from his millenia-old incarceration which had led to a whole new shit show that Sam should have( _how could he have been so blind, so fucking_ stupid) seen coming. Even though Dean and him had managed(just barely) to clean up _his_ mess, the scars that it left in the relationship between the two brothers had been carved so deep, that lingered in the air between them everytime they snapped at each other's throats. Those unspoken words that no one dare bring up, dancing around them, hinting at them, but _never spoken._ For if they did, the bond between them would shatter into oblivion.

As Sam drew up the final syringe of human blood, he felt nothing but cold anticipation and the barely concealed dread of what was to come.

***

The bunker's dungeon was colder than usual.

It raised the fine hairs on the back of Sam's neck, goosebumps prickling his skin uncomfotably. Twin daggers of undisguised hatred burned into the back of his head, setting his insides on fire and chilling him to the bone simultaneously. As he turned to meet his brother's mocking black stare, Sam couldn't help but wonder if Dean could even feel the cold anymore. If he could feel _anything_ anymore.

Sam was the one who broke the connection. Glancing away uncomfortably, he laid out all eight shots, all filled with purified blood, the one thing that could finally bring Dean, the _real_ Dean, back to him. His shoulders stiffened as he heard a sharp snort of contempt behind him.

''No _hello,_ Sammy?'' Dean remarked. From behind him, the chains that bound the demon rattled as he shuffled in his chair.

''Don't call me that,''Sam said, barely halting himself from turning around. He doubted that he could bare seeing his big brother locked in chains a moment longer than what was necessary. He bit his tongue, holding back the words long enough to ponder them over before adding, ''Only Dean gets to call me that.''

The Knight laughed again. ''You don't get it, do you?'' The grip Sam had on the table tightened, knuckles turning white. He had sincerely hoped that they could get through this whole thing without words. To his dismay, the demon continued. ''I _am_ Dean. I have all the same memories, all the same thoughts, just minus all the whiny self-hating bullshit. And let me tell you, ain't that a relief.''

''You've _killed_ people,''Sam shot back, turning to face his brother again, the first syringe in hand.

''How is that anything new?" Dean retorted. ''I've been killing people, killing _things_ since I was twelve years old! _Twelve,_ Sam.''

''They were innocent,''Sam rebuked.

''We've killed innocent people before,''Dean argued. Sam's shoulders tensed. ''I'm not the bad guy here, Sam.''

''You're a _demon,''_ Sam shouted, standing at the edge of the Devil's Trap. How could his brother not understand how much bad he had done? Or, perhaps he did understand, Sam thought uneasily. He just didn't care anymore. He _couldn't_ care.

''Yes, _I am_!"Dean snapped back, eyes flickering into that depthless black stare that Sam almost couldn't bare to look into. ''And you know what, Sam? I'm happy with that! For twenty _goddamn years,_ I have woken up every day with a knife in my gut. The knowledge that I was the one responsible for people, people I _cared_ about being dead. That no matter how hard I try, no matter how many evil sons of bitches I take out of this world, that I can _never_ bring them back. That no matter what I do, I will _always_ fail the people I loved. Fail _you_. I can't even begin to count how many times I've wanted to put a fucking gun in my mouth and pull the trigger, but you know what? I _couldn't._ Because I'm too goddamn weak, to _selfish_ to do the world a favor and put a bullet in my brain. That everytime I look at myself in the mirror, I can't _stand_ the sight of what is staring back at me. And everytime I dare keep on looking, I want to shove a blade into my heart. Do you know how that feels, hmm, Sam?"The demon hissed. 'It feels like every time I open my eyes, I'm dying all over again.''

The syringe collided with the ground with a distinct crashing noise, shattered glass spitting out on all sides. Without a second glance at his brother, Sam tore his way out of that dungeon, not bothering to shut the doors as he raced towards his room, stumbling onto his knees as he retched up what was left in his stomach. His eyes ached, willing tears to his eyes, praying for some sort of outlet for what he was feeling right now. None came.

***

He stayed there for a long, long time. Minutes, hours, _years_ later, Sam brought himself to his feet, legs unsteady yet unyeilding. His mind was a blank sheet, eyes hollow and unfocused. They stayed that way as he made his way down the flights of stairs towards the dungeon, picking up one of the other syringes; ignoring Dean's snarls of enraged curses and pleas as he approached the trap.

''Sam, _don't_.'' He could barely hear his brother's words over the roaring of blood pounding in his own ears. Ramming the needle in deep into the side of the demon's neck before he could hesitate, Sam pushed the plunger.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to put out a huge THANK YOU for getting this story to reach over 1000 hits. I know that to some people that this may not be a huge deal to them, but to me it most certainly is. Thank you for sticking with this story for so long.
> 
> Tell me what you think about this chapter? I attempted to delve deeper into both brothers pasts and inner emotions, so I'd love to hear what you thought about that.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ''You know I didn't ask for this, right?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't really know how I feel about this chapter. At first, I literally had no idea how to start it off, which inevitably led to a month-long writer's block. But now, look at me guys! Back in the game(or at least, hopefully.) It's a bit shorter than I'd like, but however I do quite like where I left off. So, anyways...please enjoy.

''You know I didn't ask for this, right?"

Sam raised his head the slightest fraction; the only sign he gave that he had heard his brother at all. It surprised him; that Dean was talking again. It wasn't as though he had been silent throughout the ordeal, the farthest from it, in fact; but once he had gotten past spitting out a mangled mess of threats, of gruesome promises that made even Sam's skin crawl, the demon had fallen into silence, all except the ragged breathing that seemed to echo back from the dungeon's walls.

Fighting the urge to turn around and face the challenging black stare he was sure he would be meeting, Sam began to draw up the second dose of human blood from the supplies he had laid out earlier. He purposely attempted to ignore the change in Dean's breathing; from slow, staggering gasps, to what sounded close to borderline panic at the sight of the now-full syringe. He pushed aside the painful wrench in his chest.

When it was made clear that Sam had no intention of responding, Dean pressed on. ''The whole demon-thing, I mean. It's not like I wanted for this to happen to me. Hell, I didn't even _know_ this would happen. I just wish you would understand that.''

Before Sam had realized what he was doing, he had whirled around the face his brother. To his sudden relief, familiar piercing green met his blazing glare. '' _Understand?_ ''he repeated. ''Tell me, Dean. How am I supposed to understand when one moment you say you like being... _this_ , and then the next you say you never wanted this.''

Dean's jaw tightened with anger. ''How can you honestly begin to think that I ever wanted to become a demon, Sam? A demon killed our _mom._ There is nothing in this world that I have ever hated more. To become one of them, one of the things we have been taught to _despise_ since we were kids, would have been a fate worse than death to me.''

''Then let us _help_ you,''Sam pleaded, fighting back tears of frustration. His head was a whirlwind of confusion and anger from everything his brother had admitted to him. If he didn't want to be like this, then why was he fighting so hard to stay this way? ''Let _me_ help you. Please-- Dean, if you don't want to be a demon, then let me do this cure. You can be human again, all you have to do is let me.''

There was a great silence. It drew on for what seemed like hours. Sam kept his stare glued onto his brother's face, who had long since broken eye contact. Just when Sam thought that the demon had gone back to not talking again, his head began to slowly raise. Depthless black met Sam's own eyes.

''No.''

He continued on, to both Sam's surprise and despair. ''You know why I don't want to be cured, Sammy, hmm? I'll tell ya. It's because I'm _free._ Free of Dad's phantom breathing down my neck, ringing in my ears everytime we get someone innocent killed; that there had to have been _something_ that I could have done differently, that it should have been me dead instead of them. Free of the guilt that I was never able to save the people I cared about the most in this goddamn world when it came down to it. Free of always having to drag your whining, _pathetic_ waste of skin back together; not having to always clean up _your_ messes. So, no Sam. I didn't want this, to become what I hated the most. But now? Now, I wouldn't have it any other way. _''_ Sam's teeth clenched together as he forced himself to remember that this wasn't really his brother. This _wasn't_ Dean.

_But it still fucking hurts, don't it?_

All his life Sam had been a fuck up. _He_ was the reason Yellow Eyes came into the nursery where his mother died. _He_ was the reason Dean sold his soul and went to Hell. _He_ was the one that was stupid enough to trust a demon, to drink her blood and be caught further into her web of deceit. _He_ was the reason the apocalypse had started; that Lucifer had been set free from his eternal damnation in the Cage. _He_ was the one who decided to run off and play house with some damaged girl while his brother had been rotting in Purgatory for a year. It was _all his fault._ It just hadn't been until now that he dare let himself ponder across the fact that it was _Dean_ who was always there to fix his mistakes; to right his wrong. And what happened the one time that Dean wasn't there to wipe up Sam's spilt milk?

( _A scarlet-filmed image filled his mind; the iron reek of Sam's lifeblood pooling around his limp form, wrists slashed with varying depths, all contributing to the crimson stain that soaked into his flannel's sleeves._

_(Another figure, one who's face he couldn't make out, but felt so familiar, so safe, lulling Sam into a serene sense of bliss that he hadn't felt since the day before his mother's death. Muted horror quicking replacing it as acrid sulfur-laced smoke forced itself past his lips, pouring into his lungs, flooding his veins until his soul had been washed out in tar-black sludge. His once-hazel eyes shifting into what resembled twin abysses as he felt his own body moving without his consent, as though he was nothing less than a puppet with someone else playing his strings. He knew this feeling, the cold, brutal numbess that seized control of his brain, forcing him back into the deepest crevices of his own brain. He had lost control.)_

Sam snapped back into reality as though he had landed badly into his own body, though he was certain(or was he? Was he certain of anything anymore?) that he had been standing here in the dungeon with his very alive, very demonic brother re-telling his greatest(worst) hits.

Determined not to show anything was fazing him, Sam attempted to focus back in on the surrounding noises of the Bunker, compartmentalizing the- _whatever the hell that just was-_ into one of the many boxes in his mind. Yes, he could do that. He was good at that. Pushing his own personal matters to the side to face the more severe circumstances at hand. Circumstances who at the moment had still not _shut the fuck up._

''Alright, I get it,''Sam barked, cutting off whatever his demon brother had been rambling on about, no doubt something that would end up pressing Sam's buttons _just right_ until he found a way to get himself out of the Devil's Trap and away from the Bunker. Sam couldn't, _wouldn't_ let that happen. ''You don't want to be cured. Well, you know what? Tough. Because, _this,''_ he said, gesturing to Dean who had been glaring the whole time that gave Sam uncomfortable chills down the back of his neck. ''Whatever the fuck you are; you are _not_ my brother. My brother would never say these things to me.''

''But he thinks them.'' The demon--not Dean, Sam kept reminding himself--fixed him with a glare filled with such resentment, such _hatred,_ that Sam forced himself to look away. It had been a long time--years, since he had seen that look directed towards him. It hadn't even been him, not really, but soulless him, who had done yet another unspeakable act that Sam couldn't even bring himself to delve into the web of hazy memories(It hurt him, both physically and emotionally to force himself to recall what heinous crimes he had committed during his no-soul rampage.) Dean had barged in, just in the neck of time, to find him with blood-stained clothes, blood-stained hands; a now lifeless body tossed into the farthest corner of the motel room as though it was nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. Dean had fixed him with the same expression then; had even levelled his pistol at Sam's chest. Sam had merely laughed with the faintest amount of amusement that Dean would even stop to _consider_ laying a scratch on his baby brother.

They had never talked about that night, the two of them. Dean had seemingly never wanted to(Sam didn't believe for a second that he had forgotten what had happened) and Sam could never bare to bring it up.

It's ironic, Sam thought. How it was Dean in the end who had dragged him back from the edge(he always did in the end.) Soulless-Him had been nothing but a hollow shell, controlled only by his mere instincts, not restricted by such human emotions like regret, pity. Sam suspected it was very much the same for Dean at the moment. He could remember how it had felt; the power, the bliss that came with the feeling of _not giving a fuck._ The knowledge that if he wished it, he could tear down families, _towns,_ in his name, all just because he _could._

Dean had brought him back to himself, forcing him(with every reason to) to take his soul back, re-introducing Sam with his feelings, his humanity. Now it was Sam's turn. He would finish this demon cure, he would drive the evil out of his brother once and for all. Afterall, Dean had done the same for him.

Sam very desperately tried not to remember how Dean had Soulless-Him walk free, too. How he had allowed his brother to remain that way, all because he was _happy_ without his soul. How Dean had screamed out in the dungeon about how much easier it was as a demon. That every day he didn't want to put a _fucking bullet in his own brain._ Slit his own wrists.

Sam gave a cold, humorless laugh at that. Perhaps Dean and him were more similar in ways than he had realized.

The sudden laugh seemed to have caught the demon off guard, he regarded Sam with an uneasy mix of anger and maybe even the slightest bit of fear. It sent a sick, cold spark of satisfaction licking up the hunter's spine. If Dean was showing signs of being even the slightest bit unnerved by anything, then it was one more step closer to getting his humanity back.

''Buckle up,''was the only warning Sam gave his brother before ramming the needle deep into the artery of Dean's wrist, pressing the plunger down with probably what was unneeded force. The corner of his lip twitched into the ghost of what could have been a cold smirk at the pinprick of blood that escaped from the punctured skin.

Doing his best to ignore the agonized screams and roars his brother emitted as the Mark attempted to burn the antidote out of his veins, Sam only just realized the glass syringe he had been holding had been slammed down into the wooden tabletop, sending hundreds of shards spraying onto the floor, into Sam's hand. He watched with sick facination as the steady stream of blood trickled down his forearm, soaking into his overshirt, the pain nothing but a distant background noise as he fell back into the depths of his own subconsience.

_(Wounds struggling to stitch themselves back together, the sensation unnerving yet comforting at the same time to him. The terrifyingly familar feeling that he was not alone in his own mind. Yet, he didn't feel scared. It felt like home. Like-- family.)_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am so sorry this took so long to update. Ugh, someone needs to yell at me to get up and do something. Like, seriously.
> 
> A big THANK YOU to my subscribers, I love you so much. And that also goes for anyone really who takes the time to read whatever the hell this fic has turned into.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pain had always been relative in Dean's life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M NOT DEAD. 
> 
> Holy Hell, I am so sorry that this has taken so long to post. Everything has been so crazy lately I haven't been able to find the time to finally sit down and write this own. But now, here it is!

Pain had always been relative in Dean's life.

There was pain in the crack of bone against bone as a monster's fist crashes against his cheek on his very first hunt, not paying any mind to how young he was at the time. There was pain in the hunger pangs that seized him like ragged talons, ripping his stomach apart from the inside out, forced to give up the last of the food for Sammy. _Everything for Sammy_. There was pain in the slow, sharp burn of a stab wound, the silent screaming ache of a dislocated shoulder, a cracked rib. Pain that no one saw when Sam climbed aboard the bus to Stanford the day after he recieved his invitation, not giving a damn that he was leaving the family business, leaving _Dean._ Pain in the way the hellhound's fangs tore into him; Metaton's blade carving into him, so easy it was almost possible to imagine that he was as hollow inside as he had always felt.

Pain was what had kept him grounded for all these years. Pain was absolute. It was pure.

There was nothing pure about the agony that flooded through his veins now. Or- maybe, there was. The human blood injected inside him was working inside of him, attacking his smoke-ridden soul, washing away the blackness that had encased his heart. Purifying him, curing him. Like he was sick. That the demon was nothing more than an infection, a disease that had taken root inside his soul and never quite let go.

No one realized that it was _Dean_ who was the disease. That _he_ was the monster now.

I mean, sure, the demon thing _had_ changed him; for better or for worse, he had yet to determine that. But...it didn't _feel_ bad. He didn't _feel_ like a monster. It wasn't like when he was turned into a vampire for a day-- the rampant, primal urge to hurt, to kill, to _feed._ This, whatever it was, it was nothing like that. It felt _right._ It felt like salvation.

It wasn't as if Dean had asked to become what he was, he would've never even dared muse upon the thought if he had ever been faced with a choice to become what he had hated the most. But he wasn't _asked._ It was forced upon him, taking root deep inside his mangled patchwork joke of a soul; made it so he felt whole again. Like he could actually manage to get out of bed and the first thing that comes to mind isn't the name of the last person he couldn't save. Who he killed. Who he _failed._

Because if it meant that he had to damn himself, to become the thing he had always loathed, to be able to not have to fail to people, fail his friends, his _family,_ then he would gladly choose his fate, over and over.

Sam didn't understand. He couldn't understand. Dean hated it, hated it _so much_ that his own brother couldn't see past what Dean was now, couldn't accept what he wanted; that he wanted _this._

He couldn't help but wonder what he, human him, would have done. Would he be doing the same thing--forcing the blood cure on him no matter how many valid reasons Sam would feed him, that for the first time in fucking decades he didn't have the urge to blow his own damn head off in penance for everyone he had failed in his time. Or would he relent, release Sam from this _god-forsaken prison cell_ and let his newly demonic brother free to live out the rest of his days as a happy man?

He mused upon the idea for quite some time, before finally settling upon the answer that he _would_ have let Sam go. Why, you say? Because he already had; this had already happened before. When Robo-Sam was running around without his soul, Dean had _let him go,_ because that is what Sam had chosen, because he was _okay._

_But is_ he _okay?_

_Yes,_ he answers his own question internally. Atleast, he thinks so. I mean, sure, he was a bit more edgy at times, and homicidal, but given the circumstances with the Mark and all, it could have been so much worse. He can't help but think back to Cain, think of the hollow, ancient eyes staring back at him, playing films of death and mayhem on re-run. Things that _he_ had been forced to do. Dean would never, _never_ let himself sink into the same fate.

Still, he couldn't help the thread of uneasy dread that wove it's way into his mind; what would happen if he ever managed to escape the dungeon. _What_ he would do--to Cas, to _Sam._ Human Dean--not even in his very worst nightmares of Hell, would he have ever imagined what fantasies Dean had now; of everything he would do if Sam dared to take _this_ , his freedom, his _redemption_ away from him.

_I will never let that happen,_ his own mind snarled. But Dean couldn't help but wonder--to himself, or to Sam?

In another lifetime, Dean could have answered that without blinking. Sam. _Always Sam._ The same thought that had been driven into his skull since he was old enough to understand what it meant. He would have gladly given his own life over to his baby brother so that he could live his own life-- _Hell, he_ had. But now...with this new life this new...( _evil,_ his mind supplied, to which he purposely ignored.) This new _him_ , Dean had no idea what he would do when put into that circumstance, to have one final choice--Sam's life, or his own humanity.

That he could not answer. Not yet.

In the back of Dean's mind, he couldn't help but muse on the thought of what his dear old John Winchester would think about this whole situation. Well, that was easy, he noted with a half-hearted chuckle--he would drive the nearest angel blade into Dean's heart, not paying any heed to that this was his own _son,_ his own flesh and blood that he was killing. That he was _choosing_ to kill.

But, of course, John would have never cared. He wouldn't be able to see anything but another black-eyed monster, one of the beasts that had ruined his life, the one thing that he hated most in the world. That _Dean had_ hated most in the world. He found it ironic, all his human life, everytime he looked in the mirror all he could ever see was another monster staring back at him. And now, when the monster looks into the mirror, he doesn't see another monster staring back at him. He sees _Dean,_ just as he always should have seen.

He doesn't want to think about what that could possibly mean for him. At least, not right now.

Dean let himself relent into the silence, welcoming the thick, choking blackness that encased him. When he was human, he had quickly discovered that the worst torture of them all was to be left alone with your own thoughts-- your own secrets, your own feelings, your own fears. Things that only you knew, only you heard and saw. These thoughts alone, were enough to drive anyone to the brink of death, of insanity. And Dean would never _, never_ go back to that. _Ever._

And if Sam dared to force him back--well, God have mercy on his soul.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thanks to all my subscribers for following this story for so long!
> 
> And most of all, thank you for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN SO LONG. I am so sorry this has taken forever to be posted. Life has been crazy lately and I've been hit with a terrible case of writer's block. Take this chapter as an apology.
> 
> This chapter is honestly the most confusing thing I have ever written. I honestly hate it so much, and the fact that it's so short, so I'm sorry if I disappoint you guys. I swear I haven't abandoned this fic.

_There's blood on his hands. Stains his clothes, caked through his hair, lingering on his tongue. The copper reek floods through his nostrils like a bloodhound, throwing his senses into overdrive._

_It's everywhere. All he can see, all he can smell, all he can taste._ Blood. He _was the one who had shed blood, had killed all these innocents._ He _was the one who basked in the glory of his slaughters, painting his face red with warpaint._ He _was the one who would kill again. Who_ needed _to kill again._

 _Scarlet rivets trail sluggishly down the exposed flash of skin, gashes and scars painted across the flesh like an elonquent tapestry. Knife wounds, razor wounds._ Teeth _wounds. Like he was no better than a vampire, a monster._

_Hellfire runs through his veins, consuming him, controlling him, a puppeter pulling on it's creation's marionette. It pulls him by the reins, twisting, pulling, tearing him apart from the inside out; twisting him into a new creature. A new animal._

_They were right all along. He was a predator. A_ hunter.

 _A knife flashes in the dull lighting, grinning back at him as crimson flows through his fingers as he carves into the weeping bitch. She howls, she_ wails _as he slices in deeper and deeper. He shuts his eyes in bliss, listening, as euphoria floods through him._

_The feeling as lost as smoke floods down his throat, fills his lungs with thick, black smog. He thrashes, gasping for breath, searching for the non-existent escape as though somehow it could save him.. And then, like a flick of a switch, there's nothing._

_He's free._

_There was no more red, no more smoke. Just...nothing. Emptiness. The only sound is the echoing rush of the blood in his ears. He shuts his eyes, squeezes them shut and prays that this is all a dream. He wants to cry out, to scream for help. To run and hide and forget that this place even had existed. His mouth opens with a deperate wail, but the voice that escapes is not his own. He blinks open his eyes, and turns._

_Black._

***

Sam awakes to the phantom pain of Cain's brand on his forearm and his brother's words echoing through his skull.


End file.
